


The Deadbeat

by VenetiaHall



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Canon Compliant, Case Fic, Crime, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family Drama, First Date, First Kiss, Fluff, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Introspection, Investigation, Mutual Pining, Mystery, Novel, Pining, Post-Lethal White, Romance, Slow Burn, Subtle longing, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2019-07-24 16:44:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 49,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16179095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VenetiaHall/pseuds/VenetiaHall
Summary: ON HIATUS.Post-Lethal White. A series of odd things are happening to Jonny Rokeby's children, and it's up to Strike & Ellacott Investigative Services (SEIS) to figure out what's going on. Plus, Matthew is finally out of the picture but Cormoran and Robin soon realize getting together isn't that simple.





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been three months since Robin left her husband. As one chapter ends, another begins.

> _My last refuge, my books; simple pleasures, like finding wild onions by the side of a road, or requited love.  
>  _ Tracy Letts, _August: Osage County_  

It was an uncharacteristically quiet night at Denmark St., with only the occasional whizzing of cars passing by, their headlights casting brief light into the outer office of Cormoran Strike’s detective agency. The room was poorly lit, with Cormoran having forgotten to replace the dim bulb despite his promise to his junior partner that he would get around to it earlier that week. 

The glow of Robin Ellacott’s computer screen so was over-bright, Cormoran could see the photo they were examining in her blue-gray eyes: two people on an office desk in a compromising position. The shot was taken from the building across the street.

Robin's mouth was puckered into thoughtful focus as she looked at the image closely. Cormoran always found that look on her face adorable, and had to jerk his eyes away when she looked back at him, not wanting her to realize he was staring.

“It’s very hard to make out the face,” she said, squinting a little at the poorly-taken photograph. “But it's his office. Do you think this would be enough for Mrs. Heller?”

“I think so, but I think she wants confirmation of the woman's identity. My money’s on the PA.” said Cormoran, fitting an entire dumpling in his mouth. “It’s always the PA.”

“Hm,” Robin said noncommittally. She stared at the evidence longer, flipping between three similar images repeatedly that Cormoran could make out a rhythm of thrusting. He snorted, and tried to cover it with a cough when Robin suddenly looked at him.

“What?” she asked shrewdly.

“Nothing. Turn that off a moment and finish your meal, or _I’ll_ start eating it.”

Robin grinned and turned to her takeaway box, seeing the clear indent of a missing dumpling. “Did you take one of my dumplings?” 

“No.” said Cormoran, straight-faced, hand reaching back into her box to take another piece and eat it whole before breaking into a toothless grin, his mouth full of food.

Robin shook her head, laughing. 

“It’s not any good cold. You would've thrown it out. It would've been wasteful. I did you a _favor_.”

“A favor!” Robin responded in mock offense. “In that case—“

She swiftly took a spring roll from one of Cormoran’s many food boxes and bit into it. “There. We’re even.”

They sat at Robin’s desk companionably, eating their dinner and talking inconsequential nonsense, occasionally taking food off each other’s plates. 

It had become habit, the two of them working on cases well into the night. There was a lightness to Robin now that had never been there before when she needed to work late. She used to be eager to accomplish tasks quickly, anxious over the time, keen to get home early to be spared wrath from a husband who disapproved. Now, she took her time and settled in, allowing herself to enjoy the job she loved doing without worrying over curfews and twat husbands.

Cormoran was glad that Robin, finally, was _free_.  

 

 

 

They walked beside each other down Denmark Street, another thing they had fallen into habit doing. It had been their compromise that he would walk her to the tube on late nights, Robin having refused point-blank to take taxis and charge it to the agency.

“Your thing with Ilsa going okay?” Cormoran asked, lighting up a cigarette.

He heard her chuckle.

“You make it sound like a DIY project, but yeah. It’s finally over. Project: Completed.” she punctuated her words by swiping her hand to thin air.

Cormoran looked at her suddenly, surprised.  “That seemed quick, didn’t it?” he asked as casually as he could, his heart beating perceptively faster all of a sudden. It had only been three months since the separation, and Matthew Cunliffe struck Cormoran as someone who would do what he can to hurt and spite Robin.

“Yeah. He was keen to just get it over with. Matt could never bear anything that would ruin his work prospects. Dragging this out wouldn’t make him very popular with the bosses.”

Robin was thoughtful, her face hard to read. But there was no sadness there, or none Cormoran could see. He wanted to ask her how she was feeling, but thought better of it. 

“Would you like to hear more good news?” Cormoran asked, aware he had just admitted to Robin that her permanently getting rid of Matthew was a good thing.

Robin looked up at him, expectant. 

“Brighton’s put us on retainer.”

Robin stopped walking and gasped. "No!" 

The exultant look on her face made Cormoran smile. 

“He’s decided he’d rather spy on his executives than get ones he can actually trust. There’s enough money for a permanent pay rise and budget to do that website you’ve been wanting.”

“Wow! Our first client on retainer.” Robin was still smiling, watching her feet as they resumed walking. Cormoran could feel her arm brush against his. 

She stopped again suddenly, looking up at Cormoran who stopped as she did. “Can we use the pay rise for health insurance for Hutchins instead? He did a lot of the work with Brighton, and I think we can put him on that job permanently. It suits him. He likes it.”

Cormoran marveled at Robin’s unwavering kindness and decency. “We can run the numbers tomorrow. There might be room for both if you’re not too keen on the website.”

Robin beamed at Cormoran and it made his insides expand with joy. They looked into each other’s eyes, Cormoran thinking how beautiful she looked when happy, and how fondly he felt for her, caring for their agency and their people more than she cared about herself. He felt the sudden overwhelming urge to kiss her.

“We should celebrate,” she said, still holding his gaze.

“I could do with a pint.” he agreed, finally tearing his eyes away from hers, looking to check where they ended up walking and if there was a pub nearby. They were already a street away from Robin’s tube station.

She shook her head. “No. A proper meal. It can be my treat seeing as I’m apparently getting a pay rise.” Cormoran watched as Robin tucked her hair to her ear. “How about tomorrow night?”

“Okay.” he said, unsure of the sensations welling up inside him at this crosswalk. He was faintly aware the people around them had started walking. The light had turned green.

Robin smiled. “It’s a date.” 

And with a grin, and a wave, she walked away.


	2. Chapter 01: Six Months Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very famous young woman in a distressing situation tries to get Robin Ellacott's help, and Cormoran doesn't like it one bit.

 

>   _You girls, given a college education, taken for granted no doubt, and where’d you wind up?  
>  _ Tracy Letts, _August: Osage County_

 

 

 

**SIX MONTHS LATER**

 

 

 

As she turned left to Denmark Street, Robin Ellacott knew immediately that she was being followed. A woman with a blonde pixie haircut and sporting oversized sunglasses had been stalking her for a good few blocks. A quick glance told Robin her stalker was wearing stiletto boots, that Robin had a good few inches over her, and that the woman was likely at least ten pounds lighter.

She knew she could physically protect herself if came down to it, but she could feel the familiar jolt of panic that happens when she even so much as imagines someone coming at her from behind.

She stopped by the coffee shop across the street, thinking the woman wouldn't try anything with people coming in and out of the establishment. She dialed Cormoran's number and pressed her phone to her ear.

From the reflection on the shop window, Robin could tell her stalker was just standing across the street. Even with her big sunglasses, her stance gave the very obvious sign that she was staring. Robin turned abruptly, pretending to look around, and the woman also shifted her body suddenly as if spooked.

Cormoran answered on the third ring.

"Have you ever seen  _Mamma Mia_?"

"What?" Robin asked, Cormoran's surprising question distracting her from her mark. 

There was a pause on the other line and then Cormoran said, "Sorry. Thought you were--"

"At the coffee shop, want anything?" said Robin, interrupting him.

“On it!” said Cormoran with a grunt. Robin presumed he had gotten up from their office couch.

The line went dead but she kept it pressed to her ear. "Okay. See you in a minute." said Robin, following their script, then pocketed her phone.

Cormoran developed the Coffee Run Ruse after journalists, other detectives, and the occasional client have taken to stalking or sneaking up on Robin hoping to get her alone to get to Strike. Robin didn’t like the ruse much, as she knew these people didn’t want to harm her, merely trying to make contact with a partner at the agency who wasn’t big, and scary, and mean. But she agreed to follow it since knowing Cormoran (or, as she thought of it in her mind, ‘back up’) was a call away significantly eased her anxiety.

But the upcoming confrontation wouldn’t be pretty, Robin knew, as Cormoran would be coming out of nowhere having positioned himself in the shadows of a dark alley. This woman is smaller than she was, very slender, and Robin knew all too well how distressing it is to be suddenly confronted by the male form, whether or not he meant harm.

_She shouldn’t be stalking anyone anyway_ , Robin thought to herself as she walked towards their building’s door. As she got in position, she turned around. Her stalker had turned around just as quickly, only to run into the hulking frame of Cormoran, already frowning at the sight of her.

At least he hadn’t yelled, Robin thought, remembering the last time Mitch Patterson attempted to accost her. The look on both detectives' faces, Robin was so sure it would come to blows had it not been for an elderly woman whacking Cormoran to the side with her cane, making him move to give her way.

“What are you doing here?” Cormoran asked the woman gruffly.

Cormoran's tone told Robin he knew who the woman was.

Robin's stalker turned to face her then. With her just a few feet away, Robin also made out a familiar face, even with the sunglasses and the unfamiliar hairstyle she was sporting.

“I need help. You have to help me, Miss Ellacott.” 

Robin wasn’t sure what shocked her more—that Prudence Donleavy was standing there at Denmark Street, or that she asked for her instead of Cormoran, who aside from being the best-known detective in London, was also her brother.

 

 

 

When finally inside the office, Prudence Donleavy took off her sunglasses. Robin's first impression of the young woman was that she was very beautiful in person. Prudence had delicate features, with freckles that prettily peppered her cheeks and nose. Robin tried to look for Cormoran in her features, and the only thing that came remotely close aside from their similarly dark eyes, were her dark, thick eyebrows--neat and well-defined on hers, a little untamed on Cormoran's.

Prudence’s face was quite familiar to Robin because the young woman frequented the pages of magazines for as long as Robin could remember. The story of how Prudence Donleavy came to be was so well-documented in the media that Robin could recall the details from memory.

Prudence was born to Lindsey Fanthrope, an actress whose first acting job playing an impoverished teen mother turning to prostitution to survive had earned her an Oscar at eighteen and sudden worldwide fame. A new film opportunity led Lindsey to London and into the path of rockstar Jonny Rokeby, whose wife Jenny Graham, was a producer on Fanthrope’s film. The photo of 19-year-old Fanthrope wearing only her knickers and The Deadbeats t-shirt being dragged out of Rokeby’s estate by Graham is still, to this day, a frequent example given whenever celebrity exploitation and paparazzi behavior is discussed in the media.

Fanthrope was fired from the Graham film, and to the world’s surprise, Rokeby left his wife and two young sons to cavort with Fanthrope for a few months in France. And then Rokeby returned to his family, and press release of his contrition over his deplorable behavior had been sent to newspapers and magazines. Lindsey Fanthrope briefly fell out of the spotlight until she was photographed banging on Rokeby's gates several months later, now visibly pregnant.  This put Fanthrope back in the tabloids, the beautiful 19-year-old who had fallen pregnant from a married, aging rockstar old enough to be her father and who himself had teen children only a few years younger than Lindsey herself. In those days, only Princess Diana seemed to get more coverage, and the photo of Fanthrope hailing herself a cab to the hospital after having gone into labor is frequently used as an example of female strength in feminist articles.

Fanthrope’s career gained a second wind after giving birth. With her cute baby, another Oscar, and marriage to handsome hotel chain heir Donald Donleavy, she achieved a level of fame that had become equal to Rokeby’s until a grisly double-homicide left 9-year-old Prudence parentless and worth a hundred million dollars, having been spared the same end only because she was on set of the first of ten films that would launch her to life-long superstardom so huge, it had eclipsed her past.

This young woman—six years Robin’s junior—with everything she's achieved and overcome was now sitting on their shabby couch, body folding into herself as though attempting to look as small and as unseen as possible while her brother—big, surly, and intimidating leaned against the edge of Robin’s desk, arms folded with a dark look on his face. 

Robin wondered if Cormoran had ever met Prudence before. He certainly reacted to her with a familiarity that felt that way. Robin wished Cormoran wouldn’t look so mean at the mere sight of one of his siblings at his place of work. She thought, judging from what she knew of both their pasts, Cormoran and Prudence had plenty in common.

Robin knew from interviews that Prudence loved the father that raised her, and was not shy about expressing disdain and disapproval of Jonny Rokeby’s many drug-fueled antics and eccentricities of which tabloid reporters felt themselves compelled to raise to her attention every time she stepped out of the house. Cormoran, of course, had very little to do with Jonny Rokeby, and found it deeply distasteful that the rockstar started acknowledging him only when Cormoran has earned a bit of name for himself.

The air was thick with awkwardness, and Robin longed to step away. The atmosphere was charged with something more than an uneasy client coming to them with a disturbing or embarrassing reason.

“Shall I fetch tea?” Robin asked, looking at the door to the outside, thinking to buy from the coffee shop nearby instead of making it in their small kitchen. Anything to get out of there. This seemed to break through to the awkward silence, and Cormoran finally spoke in a rough, agitated voice, “Why are you in a disguise? Who’s after you?”

Robin didn’t think sunglasses were much of a disguise until Prudence tugged at her blonde pixie cut, pulling it off to reveal long, dark wavy hair that was more suited to her features, and more familiar to the image of the celebrity she frequently saw on TV and movies. Robin thought it had been a good disguise, as she was only recognizable at spitting-distance, and mentally took note to try a pixie wig next time she’s under cover.

“I was hoping to hire Miss Ellacott, actually.” Prudence responded cooly to Cormoran, who had been abrasive towards her from the first.

“Doesn’t work like that. Why are you here?” Cormoran retorted.

Prudence looked at Robin. She knew the young woman wanted to speak to her in private.

“I’d be more comfortable if it was—“

“Why’d you bloody come here then? Dozens of private dicks in London, _Prudence_. You didn’t have to show up at _my_ doorstep.”

“ _Cormoran,_ ” Robin said, warning him to keep his temper.

Prudence took a deep breath, steeling herself. “I’m willing to pay whatever amount for Miss Ellacott to take my case.”

“That’s not—“ 

Robin put a hand on Cormoran’s shoulder, he quelled immediately.

“Maybe if you tell us what you need helping with Miss Donleavy, we can suggest the best person for the job.” said Robin kindly.

“There isn’t anybody else! I need the best, but—that thing with Lula, and Owen Quine, the Shacklewell Ripper, that business with Raf…my problem isn’t nearly as difficult. I don’t really need…”

Both Robin and Cormoran were looking at her intently as she twisted a little in her seat, looking younger than her twenty-three years. She seemed to contemplate what to say next, biting her bottom lip. She sighed. 

“There are pictures…”

 

 

 

Cormoran resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course this would be about pictures.

Prudence tugged at the wig resting on her lap, not looking at Cormoran nor Robin now. “And I think videos, too.” voice quivering as she said it. 

_Damn it._

Cormoran would have very much liked to turn away one of his father’s plentiful progeny, to barricade his work from the tumultuous life and past that infected every other corner of his being like a virus, but the silent agony in Prudence’s voice imploring for help over an injustice done even to her—young, beautiful, and rich, as she is—affected him like water to paper, and that much as he denies it, the blood and circumstance that bind them to each other—hateful as it may be for it to be Jonny Rokeby—is something he knew in himself he can’t truly ignore for the same reasons he remembers to text Gabi and Dani happy birthday (as they do him) and occasionally agree to meet Al for dinner and drinks.

Cormoran knew in the same way he would be indifferent to the eventual death of his deadbeat father that he would be there for all his half-siblings if needed. This latent quality of his that he often considers inconvenient is something he got from Leda, who could love and protect anything and anyone if they were vulnerable enough in front of her.

“I can’t have them getting out. I don’t want the world to be able to watch me…” Cormoran could hear that Prudence was trying to keep her voice steady with effort. Robin sat next to her, placing a gentle hand on her back. Prudence cleared her throat.

“I have a campaign to launch with the UN next month,” she said, looking at Cormoran who recognized his own dark eyes (Rokeby had passed that down to all his children), a little teary but resolute. “It could help better the lives of little girls around the world. They’re going to rubbish it if a scandal breaks out.”

Prudence had stood up, positively tiny in her 5’2” frame next to Cormoran. “It’s not just about me,” she explained. “I know what you’re thinking. Typical party girl, in over her head, little forethought—“

“We don’t think that.” Robin and Cormoran said in unison, exchanging a brief look. Cormoran heard the gentility in his own voice, thinking how young she looked. Suddenly, he thought of another sibling of his, also very young still, and wondered how he’s doing now.

“We’ll take your case.”

It had been Robin who said it. Cormoran knew this kind of case is something Robin would’ve found impossible to turn down and decided not to call her out, even if technically she overstepped her bounds.

Prudence was so elated, she hugged Robin.

“Thank you! Thank you so much!”

She extracted herself from Robin to pull something out of a purse so impossibly tiny, Cormoran didn’t initially notice it existed. She handed Cormoran a cheque. He took it without looking at the amount. “Let me know if I got the pay wrong,” said Prudence, now visibly relaxed. 

“I also have this,” said Prudence, pulling out a data stick from her tiny purse. Cormoran would be very impressed if it contained a third item. “This is all the info I have.”

“Info?” Robin asked, accepting the data stick.

“Yeah. The blackmail video, information on ex-boyfriends, ex-employees, current employees, friends… just… I don’t know. I wanted to be helpful so I just put everything on there.”

“There’s a blackmail video?” Cormoran asked, surprised and unnerved that Prudence didn’t seem too distressed now that they accepted her case.

“Yeah. They want 5 million in two weeks or they’ll sell it to the highest bidder or release it, I don't know.” said Prudence almost nonchalantly. “My team told me to just pay it, but what’s stopping them from doing it again, you know? I can’t have it hanging over my head forever, not when I’m finally doing something important.”

Cormoran tried not to make apparent the distaste he’s developed for her blasé attitude towards vast sums of money.

“Good thinking,” Cormoran said instead, agreeing that his half-sister’s reasoning was sound. “Have you contacted the police?”

“No. If they find out, they’re going to release it for sure. I really can’t risk that, Cormoran.” 

Prudence spoke his name with an awkward inflection, as though it had been the first time she said it out loud. He felt that same weird feeling when he called her by her name previously.

“Okay. We’ll review the data you’ve given us so far and we’ll call you when we find anything interesting, or at the end of the week, whichever comes first.” said Cormoran, falling into his usual work manner.

“Thanks again,” said Prudence, stopping herself from speaking further. Cormoran had a feeling she was going to say ‘bro’ and thought better of it. “Thank you, Robin.” she said, turning to Robin then, giving her another hug. 

They watched as she pulled her wig with surprising, almost comical ease (this wasn’t her first time going incognito, Cormoran mused), put on her sunglasses, and exited the office. 

“Right. Robin, go through the data stick and see if there’s anything relevant or useful. Spanner’s still backpacking across Southeast Asia, so we won’t be able to ask his help on this. You could call Dev—“

“I was thinking to call Harry.” interrupted Robin, walking to her desk to boot up the computer. “That piece for The Boston Globe-- it’s a little bit like this, isn’t it? Harry might have useful contacts.”

Cormoran contemplated this without enthusiasm. This case was already personal, bringing in more people they knew personally is something he didn’t want to do, but he also couldn’t pretend his idea was better than hers. Harry was the last person Cormoran wanted to rope into this, but it made sense. An investigative journalist who recently wrote an expose about a university’s culture of revenge porn would have more direct contacts than an IT professional.

Cormoran sighed. “D’you want me to make the call?” he asked her.

“That’s alright,” Robin smiled. “We’re seeing each other tonight. I can bring it up then.”

Cormoran swallowed the imperceptible feeling of unease he suddenly felt, being reminded of this dinner date.

“Okay. Let me know how it goes tomorrow.”

And so Cormoran left Robin to her work, trying hard not to think about that night six months previously where everything had went so very, very wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and the kudos and comments on that short prologue!
> 
> Let me know what you think of Prudence and of the case so far. :)


	3. Chapter 02

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin gets started on Prudence's case. Meanwhile, Cormoran gets a call from Shanker.

> _Thank God one day I looked in the mirror and said, “Moron,” and walked out,  
>  _ _but it kicked off this whole period of reflection, how hard I had screwed it up, where’d I go wrong.  
>  _ Tracy Letts, _August: Osage County_

As Robin scrolled through hundreds of personnel files contained in the tiny data stick, she again thought of how similar Prudence is to Cormoran. If it were under another circumstance, Cormoran would probably applaud the meticulous way Prudence organized her files. There was a video file labeled ’BV’, an Excel file labeled ‘X’, and a folder labeled ‘Employee Files’.

Robin opened the employee files first, and realized quickly that Prudence had sorted them according to how and when they had left Prudence’s employ. Robin assumed the actress thought a prime motive would be a firing. She might be right, Robin mused, but _“means and opportunity, Robin”_ , she heard Cormoran’s voice ring in her ear. Robin knew too, that this was only a first step, a reconnaissance mission of a life to find a jump-off point to make sure they don’t go careering off the wrong direction for too long.

Scrolling down at the end of the window, Robin saw a folder labeled ‘Team Prue’, which contained data files of people who are part of the actress’ inner circle. Team Prue was a group of salaried employees who were almost always in Prudence’s orbit. _That’s more like it,_ Robin thought to herself as she opened up each file labeled with a name and what they did for Prudence.

Robin skimmed through each file, noting down addresses and phone numbers. Whoever did this to Prudence, it would be someone with access to her personal gadgets, would know her passwords, and probably had some technical know-how. Robin put an asterisk next to ‘Megan Gale’, Prudence's assistant.

Robin next opened the Excel file named ‘X’, which she was surprised to see was a table of Prudence’s exes, how long she had been with them, and how the relationships ended. There were a dozen names on the sheet, three names bolded to signify relationships that went past more than a few dates. Robin’s gut thought was how she, herself nearly 30, was presently seeing the third man she has ever gone on a date with in her life.

The thought of the current state of her love life brought to mind another thing entirely: a couple of days over six months ago made her giddy with excitement and possibility, only to be met with an abrupt and confusing end.

She closed her eyes sharply, shaking her head hoping to erase dangerous thoughts that threatened to overset her. She willed herself to focus on the job at hand, reminding herself not to let The Disastrous Attempt (as Robin had started calling it in her mind) affect anything whatsoever—not the professionalism she brought to her job, not even the friendship of which she knew their agency rests on.

Limited though her experience of dating may be, she knew perfectly well that people date their friends and workmates all the time, and manage to stay friends and workmates even after a few bad dates. _But they weren’t bad dates,_ Robin thought idly to herself. _It was going great until… it wasn’t._

She was suddenly reminded of Matthew, and the hate she usually thought forgotten or buried rose up within her like vomit. She resented him deeply for wasting her time, for taking advantage of everything he knew about her to lock her up—as she thought about it in her head—like a damsel that exists only for his purpose.

It hadn’t been a partnership, Robin had long decided. They had been too young, and she had been stunted. Matthew took advantage of that. It suited him and his ambition to have a pretty girl in his arm, to give the impression of a man who was clean-cut and committed. A wholesome, small town boy who married his first love. 

Matthew had exercised the freedom to fuck around (as she thought savagely), grow, and be normal, when Robin never had the luxury to feel young, and unburdened, and boundless. He made her a 28-year-old divorcee with so little experience that when she finally had a chance at pursuing something with someone she had feelings for—proper adult feelings—she felt inept for it. Unready. Too young, too inexperienced, too out of her depth that the man she had wanted, _truly wanted_ , went running for the hills.

Just then, Cormoran walked into the outer office, wheeling his chair with him.

“Let’s see the blackmail video.”

By the time Cormoran was sat a fair distance next to her (he never leaned over her to look at the computer anymore), Robin had tilted the large monitor so that both of them could watch it comfortably.

The video faded from black, and all of a sudden an image of Prudence in a bathroom flashed on the screen. She had her phone up, back at the mirror and partially shrouding her face. Drawn over the rest of her was a crudely drawn cartoon of what was meant to be t-shirt and jeans.

The image dissolved into another one, this time of Prudence against a large curtain, head coyly turned to face the camera, the same crude drawing of a t-shirt and jeans over the rest of her body. 

It dissolved again to a third image. This time, it made Cormoran mutter curses. Robin felt Cormoran lean back on his seat, wheeling a few feet away to give himself more distance with the picture. It was Prudence, smiling, holding what looked like a crudely drawn hotdog to mask the very thing she was actually holding. Over her was the same drawing of a t-shirt and jeans.

Robin felt sick about all of it. She knew what it was like to have her own body weaponized against her, and she felt an overwhelming sense of urgency to solve this. To expose the man—for she knew, without a doubt, that this was the doing of a man—that had the nerve to hurt this poor woman in a way that wouldn’t just ruin her reputation, but decimate her trust with other people and ultimately herself.

The third image dissolved like the other two, and this time what popped up was of a person in a terrifying clown mask. It had surprised Robin and she jumped, her chair rolling back that Cormoran lunged to grab hold of her chair, clamping onto her hand instead, pulling her back into place before she skidded completely into the shelves behind her.

Six months ago, Robin would have laughed. Cormoran would have laughed. They might have even held onto each other a touch too long. But she let go of him and he extricated his hand with the same quick instinct that had them holding hands in the first place.

“Thanks.” said Robin, not looking at Cormoran, quickly pausing the video of which they had missed the first few seconds. She found the beginning of the clown mask’s appearance and played it again.

_“Naughty, naughty.”_ said the distorted voice in the video. The shot was so tight and close to the mask, it was impossible to tell anything about the person behind it. “ _Not so prudent, are you Prudence? The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, don’t they say? How will the world react to perfect Miss Donleavy’s proclivities, I wonder? Five mil in two weeks or we find out.”_

The video ends with a string of numbers which Robin copied down, knowing it was probably a bank account somewhere untraceable. Over it were the sounds of telltale labored breathing that made Cormoran fervently curse under his breath.

“What was in the data stick?” Cormoran asked, picking up Robin’s notepad as soon as she had put it down. Robin watched as he flipped through a couple of pages.

“Nearly all her company files from the looks of it.”

“‘Team Prue’?” Cormoran read off the page.

“Yeah. Her entourage.” 

Cormoran frowned at the paper. Robin knew he was contemplating on next steps. 

“I was thinking I go interview her PA for starters, see where that leads us. I can go now and do that before I take my shift with Brighton this afternoon. Then tonight, I can ask Harry for contacts. We need to take a closer look at the video. When it was recorded, maybe even where.”

He had been nodding as she voiced out her plan. He stood up then, putting her notepad back on the table. “Sounds good. I’m about to head off to tail Bad Architect for Davies. Should be done by noon. If you want, we can meet back here for lunch, go over what you find out?”

Robin had averted his eyes at this. “Meeting Dev for lunch, actually. But I can cancel—“

“No. That’s okay. Let’s just regroup after lunch before you head for Brighton.”

“Okay.” said Robin, wishing she had just said yes to working over lunch, instead of telling Cormoran things that weren’t really his business. He sure didn’t show that same honesty. If it had been him with a lunch date, he would’ve simply said, _“Can’t. Let’s meet after.”_

He left without any more words. Robin figured it couldn’t have been a great morning for him, with his sister barging into the agency, the nature of her case, Robin roping in Harry… this sort of intermingling of work life and personal life is something Robin knew Cormoran would avoid at all costs, but both of them operated their small agency with the same understanding to do the work as best they can, wherever or whoever the work comes from.

 

 

 

_For fuck’s sake_.

It really wasn’t the best time for Cormoran just now to spot the tall and lanky frame of Mitch Patterson lurking in the alley next to their office building. It would be the second time in a week now. What grated on Cormoran was how poor the other detective was at counter-surveillance, looking like _fuckin Inspector Gadget_ with his flamboyantly long beige trench coat (in June!). He even has the hat.

He had walked past him initially, and felt the ex-Met move as Comoran went past. He backtracked, using his large form to force the other detective to step back again, into the alley, pinning him against the wall. “I’m having a very bad day, Patterson.” Cormoran growled, watching Patterson’s face wince at the proximity of him. “You don’t want to test me today.”

“Cormoran!”

Robin walked past and noticed the two men leering at each other.

He let go of Patterson instantly.

“Need to know what you’re doing with her, Strike!” Patterson called after both Cormoran and Robin who had walked away together. 

“I better not smell you around here again, Patterson.” Cormoran retorted almost nonchalantly, anger and annoyance still bubbling within the surface. Robin walking close enough next to him, he could feel her arm rub against his elbow. 

“What do you think he’s on about?” Robin asked, curious.

“Fuck if I know.” Cormoran replied dismissively, walking with Robin as she turned a corner, knowing full well he was going the wrong way if he was going to tail Bad Architect. He made a split second decision to walk Robin until she got on the tube or bus just in case Patterson decided to tail Robin instead.

“Where are you off to?” Cormoran asked.

“I’d called Prudence asking if I could meet with her assistant, Megan Gale. She invited me to come to her office near Baker Street. Megan’s there.”

_Baker Street_ , Cormoran thought idly, now aware of where they were walking towards. They were just about to reach the stoplight, that place where he is reminded of how they had looked at each other months ago, the beginning of a blissful few days where he had been happy. Because of her. _With_ her.

He stopped abruptly. Robin walked a few paces ahead before realizing Cormoran wasn’t next to ho her.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, a look of genuine concern on her face that Cormoran thought was uniquely easy for her.

“Going the wrong way,” he said, smiling. Hoping to distract Robin, ingratiate himself to walk away before she, too, remembers. Everything. The sheer talent he exhibited in ruining himself for her. “Text when you get there. Call if you need anything.” he said, already turning his body away from her to walk the opposite way.

“Oh, okay.” replied Robin, a little surprised and confused at Cormoran’s sudden change of mind. 

He didn’t wait around for her to walk up to the stoplight, to see on her face a glimmer of memory. Cormoran walked straight ahead, willing his mind to focus on the job at hand. It simply didn’t do anybody any good to dwell. What’s done was done. He had bungled it, ruined what he always knew was his only chance. And then, as though to close the door completely, burn that bridge as to not be tempted to go there and make them both go through it again, he pulled off what he thought of in his mind as putting an IED in the middle of them both, creating a crater so huge there was no fixing it.

He started to walk faster, deciding the best way to shake off this slippery slope of regret that was threatening to pull him down was to concentrate on the work. This is all that’s keeping them together now. An agency that they both built and grew, a sense of purpose that was symbiotic to both of their existence. If he couldn’t have her in all the ways he wanted, he could have her in this: his other half at Strike & Ellacott Investigative Services.

His phone rang, shaking him from his reverie. 

He answered without looking at the caller ID, thinking it must be Robin.

“Hey, Bunsen.”

It was Shanker, which was very odd. Shanker only called him to return a call from Cormoran himself that he had missed, or if it was the anniversary of Leda’s death, or Leda’s birthday. Cormoran mentally recalled the date. Today was neither.

Shanker spoke in a whisper about what Cormoran understood was him having his half-brother Al in an abandoned strip club, with an an order of violence because Al skipped out on paying back debt from a certain Russian casino owner.

“Jesus fuck! Don’t touch him! I’m coming!” Cormoran yelled into the phone, hand shooting up as a cab drove by.

 

 

 

When Cormoran arrived, Shanker was nonchalantly playing pool by himself. Al was on a chair in the corner, hands tied to his back, head down, and blood dripping to his lap like tear drops.

“Had to make a show, Bunsen. Good ol’ Arza sent down witnesses, but it’s not nearly as bad as it looks, pretty boy just bruises like a peach.”

Cormoran glared at Shanker who didn’t stop his one-man game of pool as he explained to Cormoran why he had no choice but to beat up his half brother. He walked towards Al, walking around to untie him. He was tied with his own silk necktie. It wasn’t even a knot, but a neat bow. Al would’ve been able to untie himself had he tried hard enough. His hands looked smooth and untouched, though slightly red at the wrists.

Al raised his head, face initially alarming with streaks of blood all over his face. A quick look and Cormoran saw it all came from a shallow cut at his brow that Cormoran doubted would even leave a mark. One of his brother’s eyes were swollen shut, and his stubbly jaw was darkening.

Al had whimpered as Cormoran helped him stand up, clutching at his rib.

Cormoran knew Shanker had been genuine when he said the bruises were all for show. Cormoran knew Shanker well, knew what he was capable of. This, for him, was mere roughhousing, though Cormoran wouldn’t be surprised if this had been the most pain his privileged, coddled half-brother has ever experienced in his life.

“Anything else I need to know?” Cormoran asked Shanker stiffly. While he recognized how lucky Al had been that it was Shanker who was commissioned to rough him up, and that Shanker’s love for Leda may well have saved Al a trip to A&E and possibly surgery, he found the entire thing infuriating.

“They’ll come back in two weeks to collect. It wouldn’t be me they’ll call when the time comes, Bunsen. Might want to tell dear bruv to pay up. Arza always means business.”

“How much is he in the hole for?”

“Including interest? A cool million.”

Cormoran stared at Shanker at this, surprised. “Holy fuck! That much?”

“It’s a very big hole.” Shanker agreed solemnly.

Cormoran dragged Al to the bright sidewalk, very angry now that he has no other choice but to go back to Denmark Street. He took his phone and dialed one of his employees, hoping Sam Barclay was near enough to get even one compromising photo of Bad Architect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the kudos and the comments!
> 
> I'm trying to make this as close to a possible Book 5 as possible, which is why it's mostly mystery peppered with internal pining which is basically what the books are. Lol. Hopefully you guys are just as interested / intrigued with the crime bits as you are with the Strellacott bits.
> 
> PS. Not from the UK, so the geography's bound to get iffy :P


	4. Chapter 03

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin follows her own lines of investigation. Cormoran takes care of Al. Sort of.

> _We smoked a little pot, and we were goofing around, and then everything just went crazy._  
>  Tracy Letts, _August: Osage County_

Prudence Donleavy’s office was the top floor of one of the short buildings along Baker Street. From the outside, it was impossible to tell the existence of this high-ceiling, open concept layout with exposed bricks, cement floors, and wood finishing. From the inside, it looked like a cross between a chic coffee shop and an abandoned old factory where millennials have taken up shop.

The people who worked at Prudence’s office all seemed very young, or dressed like it. They were alternately overdressed or underdressed, fashionably casual in outfits Robin cannot imagine herself sporting for work. She briefly pictured herself showing up at the agency in a bright pink crop top under short denim overalls and imagined Cormoran clutching at his chest and keeling over dead at the sight of her.

Robin idly wondered if she would fit in a company with such a youthful, unstructured setup. She often felt older than she was, her experiences robbing her of the carefree freedom she supposed she should have had if university worked out differently, or if she hadn’t gotten married at 27. She knew none of these twenty-somethings surrounding her, but she was willing to bet none of them were divorced.

“Would you like some brunch?” Megan Gale asked as they sat at one of the empty tables on the office’s expansive cafeteria. At the very center was a circular bar that served coffee or pastries to employees.

Megan was as tall as Robin, modelesque thin, with long dirty blonde hair that looked low-maintenance but suited her. She was sporting bright yellow shorts, a denim crop top, and a pair of black ballet flats. She looked more appropriate for a casual stroll at the mall than a Wednesday at the office. From her accent, Robin recognized her to be American.

“Today’s waffle day. Francois, our chef, can make them any way you want. Vegan, gluten-free, full-fat... he works wonders!” said Megan, eyes widening as if to impress upon the fact that Francois’ waffles were the best in London.

“Oh, no thank you.” said Robin politely, wishing instead that she was offered tea or coffee, the fragrant smell of coffee wafting through the air.

“Prue tells me you’re a detective? Wow! That must be so fun!”

Flashes of a mangled body, a very real severed leg inches from her fingers, and staring down the barrel of a gun popped into her mind— far from Megan’s world of glitz and glamour.

“It has its moments,” Robin replied, humoring her. “Has Prudence told you about her problem?”

“Oh yeah. I was the one who saw it first.” Megan’s eyes widened again. Robin realized the woman punctuated a lot of her sentences in this way. “It was lucky I was only on my phone, because seeing that clown any bigger—” Megan shuddered at this, and Robin remembered her own surprise, and subsequently, Cormoran’s rough palm clutching her hand.

“How did you get the video, Megan?”

“It was emailed! I read all Prue’s emails and then I show her the ones she absolutely needs to see. I’m like her human filter for those things. The email was empty. It was just the video inside. Have you watched it? I pressed play and was, like, _holy shit_!”

“Would you mind showing me the email?”

Prudence raised the phone that was already on her hand, tilting it to Robin as she scrolled hundreds of emails before stopping. It bore a label saying ‘For AA’. The subject title read, ‘NOT SO PRUDIE’. Robin didn’t need advanced tech know-how to recognize the email was created for this single purpose, but she wrote it down anyway. It was time stamped at noon on the dot that Monday.

“So crazy, right? I thought it might be a hoax, you know? Just a really good photoshop job because Prue’s really careful about nudes and stuff. Being a good role model is very important to her, but she came clean right away and said that those were definitely her.

She showed us the unedited versions of the first two and they were a little racy, but she wasn’t even naked. Mind you, the WB would have an aneurysm especially with _Spellbound 10_ coming out this year. We’re worried it could derail the UN stuff, but the third pic... oh man! That’s just… _bad_.”

Robin noted how chatty and forthcoming Megan was, even with very little prompting, though Robin thought maybe Prue had instructed Megan to be cooperative.

“How many people know about the blackmail?”

Megan immediately counted on her fingers. “There’s me, Prue, Marcia—Prue’s manager— AA, her lawyer… I’m sure Bella was also told. She’s Prue’s publicist, but she wasn’t there at the emergency meeting. I’m not sure if Prue told anybody else, but she said nobody else can know about it yet. If the press find out, we’re fucked! The team's surprised she went to you and your husband, actually. AA wasn’t happy about that.”

“What?” Robin replied, caught off-guard.

“You and your husband… isn’t he Prue’s long lost brother or something?”

“Oh.” said Robin, hoping she wasn’t blushing though she could feel her cheeks growing red. “He’s not my... we’re not— we only work together.”

“Oh! Duh!” said Megan, gesturing to her brow and rolling her eyes as though she made a particularly dumb mistake. “I don’t know why I thought you were married to her brother.”

Robin fought the urge to explain what she thought Megan assumed about her. That she _had_ been married, but to someone else— it was a fact about Robin that had been reported in numerous articles about the Shacklewell Ripper as reason for her lack of comment, being halfway around the world tending to a gravely ill husband she wished she hadn't just married--but Robin resisted. If she learned anything from their last big case, it was that 1) never share anything personal to suspects, and 2) everybody's a suspect.

“Megan, do you know anybody who has access to Prudence’s accounts? Her phone, laptop, email… anything.”

“Other than her?” said Megan, thinking. “Me, as far as I know. Prudence is like the President. She only has the basics on her phone— calls, messages, her private private email than only, like, a dozen people know. I handle everything else, like her social media. This phone,” she holds up the phone in her hand “has more info on her than her own phone does.”

“But these pictures are new to you?”

“Oh yeah. Didn’t she tell you? If it had been a hack, it wasn’t on our end. She never had copies, or so she told us. She wouldn’t say whose phone or camera or iCloud was hacked or whatever, just that it 100% wasn’t hers. And I know her pretty well, you know? If there’s anything on her devices, chances are I’d see it first before she does. It was probably a boy’s. Getting her to take porny pics and videos, leaving their shit unprotected, and then she’s the one who gets fucked. Prue’s super smart but, boy does she date dummies.”

Just then, Megan pulls out another phone from her pocket. “Prue wants to see you.” she told Robin without looking up from the screen.

Megan led Robin into the main office area where a bullpen of permanent desks littered an expansive floor plan, the opposite end blocked off with glass, split into a large office and a conference room. Prudence was in the office, still in the clothes Robin saw her in this morning (sans sunglasses and wig) sitting on the couch, listening intently to who Robin recognized was a very popular telly actor currently starring in a fair number of Hollywood films. Robin recalled that this actor rose to stardom playing a contemporised version of Sherlock Holmes and it amused her to realize that he was, right now, in Baker Street.

Robin watched Prudence look in her direction and wave. “You can go ahead inside.” said Megan, who started walking towards a desk to her left. Robin walked the rest of the way towards the office, noticing that everyone was preoccupied with their own work, not the least bit curious of the two famous people in a glass case, primed for ogling. Robin supposed these young people’s day to day likely involved exposure to all sorts of famous people.

“Hi, Prudence.” said Robin as she entered the office.

The famous actor stood up and introduced himself to Robin with an ingratiating smile. She allowed herself the smug thought that Matthew, who had enjoyed calling this actor names whenever she tried watching his show, had been very wrong: this actor was very handsome and very charming.

“Unlike you, she’s an _actual_ detective.” Prudence joked.

“I know! I recognize you from the Shacklewell Ripper case. Fascinating stuff.”

Robin thought ‘fascinating’ felt too whimsical to describe her work, but she’s learned not to take it against people how they react to gruesome things that were outside of their normal.

“Well, best be off. See you tonight,” he leaned to give Prudence a quick peck on the lips, “It was a pleasure to meet you, Robin.” he also leaned in for a polite peck on the cheek at Robin, and exited the office.

“You spoke to Megan?”

“Yeah. She said the photos weren’t hacked from your devices.”

“Did you open the Excel sheet from the data stick I gave you this morning? I’ve bolded the ones who own those photos.” Prudence = lost the jovial air she had when the actor was there, reverting to the somber and distressed manner she had that morning.

She covered her face and groaned. “I _knew_ I shouldn’t have allowed them. Oh god, how could I have been so stupid? You must think I’m so stupid.”

“I don’t think that.” said Robin, noting how much other people’s opinion of her mattered to Prudence. It also surprised her how much sympathy she has for this young, beautiful, rich creature who has gotten more from life than any one person ought to have. Prudence didn’t look the poised movie star that could command the world’s attention and affection. Just then, she looked like any other young woman with an unfortunate problem that wasn’t unique to her, though of course the stakes are much higher.

“But you fall in love, and you open yourself, and you give so much of yourself that photos and videos don’t seem that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things…” she was rambling now, thrashing about in frustration on her wide, luxurious couch. Robin looked at the bullpen, no one was looking at them.

“But what I don’t get,” Prudence suddenly sat up, shifting moods completely that if it had been a different circumstance, Robin would have laughed. “is _how._ How did the blackmailer get the three photos and the… video when they were owned by three different people?”

Robin wondered the exact same thing.

 

 

 

Cormoran chucked the frozen peas to Al, who caught it in the abdomen with a grunt.

“Shouldn’t I go to hospital?” Al asked, slapping the peas on the side of his face, inspecting his reflection on the office door’s glass pane.

“You’re fine.” Cormoran grumbled, glaring at his brother as he sat on Robin’s chair and picked up the phone.

Cormoran called Davies, informing him that he hadn’t been able to tail his mark due to “unforseen circumstances”, and tried to control his breathing as Davies repeatedly yelled “most irregular!” into the receiver. He wished he could drop this demanding client, but he paid very well and the work was different from their revolving door of adulterous couples. Archibald Davies is a property developer building a free children's clinic downtown. He commissioned Strike & Ellacott Investigative Services (SEIS) to investigate his construction partner who he suspected was making shady deals on subpar building materials while pocketing the difference. It seemed too important a case, and one Robin had been particularly passionate about.

“I think he broke my jaw! And my rib!” Al was still whinging, parking himself on the office kitchen’s sink where Robin had mounted a tiny mirror. “Shouldn’t we call Scotland Yard? Maniac like that—”

Cormoran slammed the phone back on the receiver. Al jumped.

“D’you know how very close to serious injury you just came?” Cormoran’s voice was booming, his patience at its breaking point. One sibling was one thing, but _two_ was entirely too much, especially this one who doesn’t seem to have a clue about the seriousness of his situation.

“ _Close_ to serious?” Al whipped around, incredulous. “I’m gonna need stitching!” said Al, gesturing to the gash on his brow.

“You think that’s serious? You poncy idiot! That’s a flesh wound! Wash your face and you’ll see it’s already healing! If you’re jaw’s broken, you wouldn’t be able to move it! Your ribs will heal in a couple of days. Don’t you see you were just done a favor, _Rokeby_? In the hole for a million quid and all you got were a few boo-boos! You were fuckin’ lucky my contact recognized you, or you’d be having your fingernails yanked off right about now.”

Al was stunned silent at this. Cormoran supposed it was him calling Al ‘Rokeby’ that upset him, but he needed to understand how very serious the situation he had gotten himself into.

“How’d you get mixed up with Arzamastsev, eh?”

“How do you know—”

“Never mind how I know him. How dumb can you be, owing him that much money?”

Al’s whole body slumped as he sighed. “Met him in Dubai. High stakes poker. Didn’t know he was _that_ good. Kept trying to win it off. Didn’t pan out.”

Even though Cormoran understood his half-brother just made apparent a terrible gambling problem, he had little pity for rich young people who have millions to spare or lose in poker games. Still, he was a touch less angry when he next said, “The best way to get him off your back is to pay off your debt. The sooner the better. Take out a loan, ask _him_ for it. Just pay it off. Arza’s the last person you want to owe money to.”

Al didn’t react.

“He _will_ kill you. It won’t be quick, either. He’ll make you feel it. Believe me, I know his type. If you pay, as long as you don’t mess with him and his business again, he’ll leave you alone.”

Cormoran knew another option, which was to disappear— something he once advised a client he knew couldn’t pay--and that debt, compared to Al’s, was spare change. The client missed his due, and was later reported to have died in a house fire that claimed his entire family. But if Al had money to take part in high stakes poker with the likes of Arza, paying shouldn’t be too hard for him.

“I thought we were square,” said Al, leaning against the sink, not looking at Cormoran. “I gave him a bunch of dad’s tour stuff. I thought that would be it.”

“Is that what he asked for?”

“Yeah. I mean, I offered it. He’s building a rock & roll hotel in Vegas and I said I can give him a bunch of Jonny Rokeby originals to make it more authentic. He agreed— he was even very happy about it. I delivered it to him myself. They might be worth more than a million if he gave it a few more years. I thought we were good.”

“Wouldn’t matter to him. The only thing worth money to him is money.”

“But he said…”

“Never mind that! He’s coming to collect. Just pay it off!”

Al smirked humorlessly. “With what money? The Butler started stiffing me my allowance after that music festival failed spectacularly. Can’t ask dad directly, he’ll brain me. Fuck! I’m fucked!” said Al, getting carried away and clapping his hand to his face, hitting his bruises. He hissed.

Cormoran knew The Butler was Peter Guillespe, Jonny Rokeby’s lawyer who acted like part majordomo, part personal assistant, part debt collector. Knowing how little Rokeby’s children liked Guillespe was the one thing that warmed Cormoran to them. It was like Guillespe to collect with the same rapacious manner as an international gangster. Cormoran has experience dealing with Guillespe himself, though on this instance he couldn’t fully side with Al. The music festival that failed was a global controversy, after his events company promised a luxurious music festival that would rival Coachella, only for it to come out as textbook fraud. Al lost millions in investment but was spared jail time while his partner—and the mastermind—was sentenced to six years in prison. Guillespe was prudent to advise Rokeby against bankrolling more of his legitimate son’s whims.

“Will you help me?” Al said, walking now to Robin’s table, arms outstretched to Cormoran, prostrating himself dramatically over the table to his brother. Cormoran wasn’t sure what else he could do for Al. Everything he owns, everything worth any quid at all, was in this shabby office space and the attic flat upstairs: a net worth that was hilariously low for a man of his age. He certainly has no influence over Arzamastsev. The extent of his capacity to assist, was to cash in on a lifetime of goodwill built with Shanker, and picking Al up from his place of beating.

“He’ll fork up the money if _you_ ask.”

“Jesus fuckin Christ!”

Cormoran hadn’t expected that suggestion, finding it ludicrous that Rokeby will part with a million quid if his bastard son asked. If Al asked Cormoran to go knock on Arzamastsev’s door and ask him politely to waive Al’s debt, that would have been more plausible.

“He’ll do it, you know. He’s really impressed by you. He was really worried when your office got sent the—”

“What about Gabi or Dani?” Cormoran interjected.

“And have them own me for the rest of my life? No thanks. I’d rather die.”

Only someone who had no grasp of what was truly coming for him could be flippant about such matters.

“C’mon, bruv.”

The office door opened and Al shot upright so fast, he whimpered audibly.

“What happened to you?!” Robin exclaimed at the sight of Al, face streaked with dried blood, half his face swollen.

Cormoran huffed. “He’s fine!”

“Don’t look at me, I’m hideous—ow!” Al had the gall to joke, feeling a stab of pain as he tried to raise both arms too fast to cover his face.

“His face is covered in blood!” said Robin, dropping her purse unceremoniously on the couch to look closer at Al.

“That’s because he wouldn’t wash it like I told him to.” grumbled Cormoran, who detested the scene now unfolding in front of him. His idiot brother, face beaten to a pulp but still trying his damnest to charm and flirt with Robin who he thought savagely was falling for it. _Again_.

Robin soaked a face cloth and started gently dabbing at Al’s face, the man making a show of wincing even when Robin swiped at parts Cormoran knew had been left untouched. He wanted fervently to throw a stapler to the back of Al’s head.

“What happened?” Robin asked again, a bit more matter-of-fact, probably now realizing that all the blood came from a now-healed shallow cut to Al’s brow. _Told you_ , Cormoran thought.

“Oh, you know. Got kidnapped and beaten by a dozen huge men. Just an ordinary Wednesday.” Al joked, clearly trying to make Robin smile. But Cormoran knew Robin. She was the last person to be glib about crime or injuries.

Robin turned to Cormoran, still cleaning Al’s face with marked less gentility now.

“Brother dear got on the wrong side of Arza.” explained Cormoran. Robin stilled, stunned.

“But Corm’s going to help me _not die_ , aren’t you, Corm?” said Al.

“Arza didn’t do this to you.” said Robin. It hadn’t been a question.

Cormoran felt the corner of his mouth twitch, unable to contain the gush of pride he felt that Robin could spot a gangster’s work (or lack thereof) on sight. He watched as she checked Al’s fingers for good measure.

“Lucky for this idiot, he decided to outsource.” said Cormoran.

Robin looked at Cormoran again, smiling this time, full of understanding.

“Yep.” Cormoran confirmed, grinning too.

Robin shoved the bloody towel on Al’s hand. “You’re fine. Go wash up.”

Al gaped, looking from Cormoran to Robin. “He’s a bad influence on you.” he said, stomping to the small bathroom in the landing to clean up the rest of his face.

“Blimey, he’s lucky it was Shanker.” said Robin when Al was no longer at earshot.

“He’s still dead if he doesn’t pay up. Lost a bloody million playing poker.”

“Oh my god!” Robin said, appalled.

“Yeah. I think he has a gambling problem.” said Cormoran grimly. “Try’na get me to help him grovel at Rokeby for the money. I think the old man’s also cut him off.”

There was a perceptible look of distress on Robin’s face now, the kind of alarm Cormoran thought Al should be sporting.

“What are you going to do?” Robin asked. Cormoran wondered if she was aware how imploringly she was looking at him, and how powerless he has grown towards it. “Help him, I s’ppose.” he shrugged.

Al returned, face clean and as clear as someone with a cut, a bruised jaw, and a black eye could be. He slumped on the couch, ignoring the farting sound he knew was going to happen. Robin entered the inner office, Cormoran followed her.

“Don’t you have lunch plans?” asked Cormoran.

“Cancelled it. Got loads to tell you about Prudence’s case.” said Robin, standing on tip toes to open a cupboard overhead. Cormoran stepped behind her to reach for it instead. He felt her entire body against his, and uttered a quick prayer that he remembered to put on deodorant that morning.

“Just the first aid kit.” said Robin.

Cormoran took the kit and made a big step backwards, creating a healthy distance between them.

Robin took the gauze and a few band-aids. Cormoran dutifully returned the kit back to its hiding place.

“I’ll go buy lunch.” offered Cormoran, saying it to both Robin and Al. He looked on as Robin sat next to Al, her gentle fingers meticulous as she placed the band aid on Al’s cut.

He closed the office door thinking about more than the busy morning he and Robin just had, remembering a party nearly five months ago when Al and Robin sat on that same farting couch.

_“Very very glad you’re divorced, Robin.” Al said, a bit too loud. Cormoran heard Robin giggle, her face flushed with alcohol and maybe mirth. “Glad you got rid of Cunt-liffe. He was ugly and he sucked.”_

_“You never met Matthew.” Robin chuckled. Her head swaying to background music and alcohol that it bumped Al’s shoulder. “D’you want to see a picture?” she said, pulling her phone seemingly out of nowhere. Cormoran watched her blink at her phone, trying to get her mind to focus as she tapped._

_“That’s a pretty picture.” Al said, tapping on Robin’s phone screen. “I like your face there.”_

_“That’s my labrador!” Robin burst out, laughing into Al’s shoulder now. She stayed against him as they fumbled at Robin’s phone, breaking out in giggles every so often. Cormoran sitting on Robin’s chair, watching them and drinking himself to oblivion, affected by the overt flirting happening between his half brother and his…_

He had lost his chance, _he reminded himself. Lost any right to stomp over to them and give Al an upside smack; the right to take Robin's hand and pull her next to him instead, to ask her to drink with him, joke around with him, listen as he abused Matthew with more colorful puns than ‘Cunt-liffe’._

Cormoran lit up a cigarette, angry at himself for this constant state of regret. If he had stuck around longer, if he hadn’t yearned to forget, to do something that was equal to what he thought Robin was doing to him then, maybe he wouldn’t have done the very thing that he could never, ever take back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's so much fun to write pining!
> 
> Thanks for the very kind and generous and helpful comments I've been getting on this fic. It's my first, and I have never written fiction before so they really mean a lot.


	5. Chapter 04

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cormoran is grumpy, while Robin shows initiative with the case. More importantly, both of them can't seem to shake off the events of six months prior.

 

> _She’s too much for you right now.  
>  \- Tracy Letts, _ August Osage County

 

Al needed persuading before he agreed to leave the office, convinced the man who beat him up that morning would find him and ‘finish the job’. 

“You’ll be fine for the next two weeks,” said Robin, who interjected because Cormoran was making tell-tale noises of annoyance. It was already well into the afternoon and they had work to do. “Trust me.”

Al sighed, “Christ. I’m such a fuck-up.”

Robin also knew a thing or two about feeling as though she has made a series of life-altering mistakes.

She was moved, just then, to put an arm around Al. She felt his heavy head rest on her shoulder, but otherwise he didn’t make any other move. She has grown fond of Al in recent months despite him being the most sheltered and over-indulged adult she’s ever met. In the few times they found themselves in each other’s company (sometimes even without Cormoran), she thought him fun to be around, and sometimes disarmingly self-aware which she found refreshing.

He had expressed romantic interest previously, and for a time was even quite persistent.

_“Go on, Rob. Dinner and a show. My pal Dan’s in a play on the West End. I can get us tickets.” said Al, after showing up at her flat one morning driving a Lamborghini that Robin thought looked too gaudy to be allowed._

_She brushed him off, rolling her eyes as she kept walking down the sidewalk towards her tube station, Al slowly rolling next to her. Robin could feel early morning commuters staring at the scene they’re making._

_“Can I at least drive you to work?”_

_Robin laughed, unable to stop herself. She pictured Cormoran’s face as she cooly pulls up in Al’s bright red lambo. She imagined him smoking by the door and choking at the sight of them both. The sheer hilarity nearly made Robin agree._

_“Is that a yes?” said Al, expectant._

_“Nope.”_

_“Is it because you’re already dating Cormoran?”_

_“I’m not dating anybody.” said Robin, not missing a beat though she could feel the sides of her face growing warm._

_“Then why not me?”_

_It was a good question, Robin admitted. Al isn’t bad looking. She found him enjoyable company. Hadn’t her cousin told her she should start dating? (Which of course she had done a month previously, but the less Robin thought about that, the better.) What better person to dip her toes in than the admittedly charming socialite who made his interest clear?_

_But the thought was immediately pushed aside, because something about Al made him fundamentally unsuitable in Robin’s eyes: he was Cormoran’s brother._

_Some people are simply off limits._

“You’re not a fuck up,” said Robin, rubbing Al’s arm bracingly. “You fucked up, is all.”

“Thanks, Rob.” Al raised his head from Robin’s shoulder, arms crossed looking at Cormoran, who was glowering back. “ _He_ should be rubbing off on _you_ , not the other way ‘round.”

“Okay, okay.” Cormoran huffed in resignation. “I’ll help you talk to _him_ , but only if you ask your sisters first.”

Al groaned, ready to protest again. Cormoran cut him off. “I’m not dickin’ around, Alexander. If you don’t pay, you’re as good as dead. There’s nothing I or anyone else can do for you if you don’t pay Arza to get off your back. Mobsters are serious fuckers.

“Okay!” said Al, like a petulant teenager tired of a parent’s admonishments. “I’ll work on it. I’ll get out of your hair, jeez. Sorry to be a bother.” He walked away from the two, head down and looking thoroughly miserable. “See ya, Robin. If I live long enough.” he said as he stepped out and slammed the door.

“D’you think he’ll ask her sisters?” Robin asked, still a little concerned about Al.

“If he knows what’s good for him. Can’t worry about him just now, we got work. You wanted to tell me something?” said Cormoran, plopping himself on their office couch. They were so used to the farting noise, neither of them notices it anymore. 

Robin leaned against the edge of her table, watching Cormoran as he absently poked the bag of defrosted peas. He was sulking for some reason.

“Talked to Prudence and her assistant. According to them, the photos and videos didn’t even come from any of their devices. Prudence never had copies.” 

Cormoran grunted noncommittally. Robin supposed if it were private photos of her brothers (she shuddered at the thought), she wouldn’t want to be the one going around London asking after them.

“She had given me the names of her exes who had copies. Three different people owned them, and from what she told me, they never interacted.”

Cormoran just made noises signifying he was listening, but otherwise didn’t look too engaged. As he hunched over the coffee table, Robin couldn’t tell if he was thinking or ignoring her.

“From what it’s worth, I believe her.” said Robin, trying to temper her own mounting agitation. Robin understood fully that Cormoran has little tolerance for his personal life impeding upon his professional life, but the least he could do is participate. His complicated history with Prudence aside, it was still a paying case.

“Listen, if you don’t want to do this, I can take over. She wanted me initially. I was the one who told her we’ll take the case. I can do it. I’m ready.”

For a while Cormoran just sat on the couch, stroking his stubbly chin. Robin had half a mind to simply declare the case to be hers. She didn’t think she’s ever asserted her new promotion as named partner. The agency’s too small for there to be lines between role expectations, and Cormoran so far is the only partner allowed to take or reject a case, and delegate responsibilities. Maybe she _can_ make big decisions, too. This could be the perfect opportunity.

Cormoran beat her to the punch, “Alright.” 

She was a little disappointed that Cormoran gave permission before she was able to assert herself, but her spirits lifted when he looked up at her and despite being thoroughly tired, he asked: “What do you need?”

It made her smile.

Robin hurried to her computer, pulling up the Excel sheet where Prudence organized her relationship history in a neat table. “Prudence is positive that if the blackmailer had anything on her of this sort, it could only come from her three ex-boyfriends. She said she never took provocative photos for anyone else, not even herself.”

“One is Mark Leonowens, an old boyfriend from when she was a teenager. They were together recently for about a year… Oh! They broke up just the other day…”

Robin was momentarily side-tracked, recalling how Prudence so amorously kissed the famous telly actor at her office that morning. She herself couldn’t imagine moving on so quickly, or fancying more people at once. Even when she was extremely unhappily married, there was no one she remotely thought of romantically other than…

_Focus,_ she told herself sternly. “According to this, the break-up was amicable. Their lives were just incompatible. In her own words she wrote, ‘I don’t think he did it.’” In the few years Robin worked as a private investigator, she learned never to go by anyone’s hunches without concrete evidence. 

“Then there’s her _Spellbound_ co-star Rodrigo Marco. Doesn’t have a date of when they were in a relationship.” Robin recalled that tabloids and magazines have been asking them if they were dating since they were small children. _How awful_.

Robin felt Cormoran now looming behind her.

“What’s ‘FWB’?” he asked, referring to the string of letters Prudence wrote in place of explaining a breakup with Rodrigo. Robin looked up at Cormoran, an amused look on her face. “It means ‘friends with benefits’. Young people use it to mean—“

“Right.” Cormoran grunted, unamused. Robin felt a little embarrassed but all other thought flew from her mind as she read the third name.

Prudence only wrote ‘Adam’, and ‘2006 - 2011’ with no further explanation. Not that it needed any. Prudence Donleavy’s worldwide fame partly included the fact that she famously dated somebody in the line of succession: the young Prince Adam, whose squeaky clean and strapping public image made it seem as though he is Prince Charming come to life. 

It was a thoroughly public love story. From their first meeting on set of _Spellbound 5_ when the young royal went for a courtesy visit and every time they stepped outside of private residences. For five years, coverage was constant and relentless following them on all corners of the globe until they were never seen together. The media eventually caught on to a breakup, but both parties were notoriously mum about it that years later, the public still has no clue about what happened to the golden couple.

“He’s going to be a bitch to interview.” Cormoran said exactly what Robin was thinking.

“I was thinking I’ll start with Mark Leonowens first,” she said, standing up to put the kettle on. She stood next to Cormoran leaning against the filing cabinet. “He’s a school teacher at Glendale School in Bromley.”

She saw Cormoran’s face crumple into a frown.

 

 

 

 

_Of fucking course he teaches at Glendale._

Even this likely insignificant connection irritated Cormoran immensely.

“That’s where my nephews go.” he said in response to Robin’s confused look. “Lucy’s kids.”

It wasn’t information he simply knew about his nephews. He came by it nearly a year ago when one of them, Jack, had a severe case of appendicitis the same weekend his parents were on holiday in Rome. Cormoran was named their immediate guardian (something he didn’t know prior to that night he had to assume the role) and had to fill up Jack’s intake form. Cormoran vividly recalled how frazzled he felt, towering over the reception area at a loss beyond filling out Jack’s legal name. It was the kind neighbor who gave the school’s name to the A&E nurse, and the feeling of shame and worry mingling within him burned the school’s name into memory.

“Ah.” Robin replied, and Cormoran knew she immediately understood why he was being a grumpy bastard even about this.

Cormoran was absolutely knackered. Exhausted of the long and eventful day that didn’t even allow him to get any work done. Exhausted at the spoiled half-siblings who helped themselves to his time and services. Exhausted even of Robin, who he felt indulged both Prudence and Al when she had no place to, whose constant care and capability and passion for the job made sure he throbbed with regret all this week just as his girlfriend was out of town, and reminding him of what could have been but would never be. 

He was actually quite relieved that Robin offered to take the case. Whether he thought she was actually ready to take lead—of the agency’s most profitable case at that (the amount on Prudence’s cheque was so ridiculously exorbitant, it made Cormoran audibly chuckle; he was going to mail it back)—he didn’t care right then. If she was ever going to learn, it might as well be now. If she fails at the expense of Prudence Donleavy’s giant career, then so be it.

In truth, he didn’t want to go up and down Britain looking for the bastard threatening his half-sister with private photos and videos. He was in fact a little resentful they were cornered to take on the case. Then Al impeded upon his work hours with a completely preventable problem. He found them both obtuse and privileged; spoiled brats with little forethought (regardless of what he told Prudence) and now expect him—a virtual stranger to them both (even if he has grown fond of Al in the last couple of years)—to clean up their messes. 

“I’ve got the Land Rover outside. I can probably catch Leonowens if I leave now. That might make me late for Harry, but I can always reschedule. I’ll just ring about the tech contact. Though I suppose you’d be able to—“

“No. Do it tomorrow. I’ll come with you.” said Cormoran reflexively. 

Robin raised an eyebrow.

“I mean—“ he backtracked. Reservations aside, he had been genuine when he gave Robin the reigns to Prudence’s case. He, however, underestimated his tendency to micromanage even now after growing his agency to four full-time detectives and promoting Robin to a named partner. “Would you like me to come with you?”

His sudden change of tact made Robin beam. Cormoran couldn’t help it and grinned himself. He felt the intangible weight on his shoulders lift a little at the mere sight of her happiness.

“Sure.” said Robin.

“Sorry I’m being difficult.” said Cormoran, contrite. “Prudence’s case isn’t exactly something I imagined to be doing when I opened up the agency. And Al doesn’t understand the shit he’s in…”

“That’s alright.” Robin replied, ever good-natured. “This is what I’m here for. I got your back.” she said, playfully knocking her shoulder against his.

It was reflex akin to a knee-jerk that Cormoran raised his arm and put it around Robin’s shoulder. He squeezed it awkwardly, pulling her closer to him only to abandon the gesture midway. It was as though his body acted of its own accord when his brain only meant for a friendly pat on on the back. He felt her stiffen in his arms and he withdrew his hand immediately, knocking back a row of succulents displayed on top of the filing cabinet.

“Shit! Sorry.” said Cormoran, immediately righting the overturned pots. If he was apologizing for the mess he’s made or the sudden touching, he wasn’t sure himself, though he hoped it sufficed for both.

Robin moved towards her desk, putting items inside her purse. “I’ll call Prudence about interviewing her exes while I head over to Brighton’s office.” she said. “I’ll check in when I get there.”

“Alright. I’ll be here.”

“I’ll give Sam a ring too about covering Nasty Rusty tomorrow afternoon if we’re heading to Bromley.” said Robin, already halfway out the door.

“Right. Happy tailing!” he called out to her leaving form. She poked her head back through the closing doorway, smiled at him and winked.

He stared at the closed office door for awhile, a rush of memory rising to the surface of his mind at the sight of her winking.

_Cormoran was standing by the sidewalk in front of Robin’s flat at Earl’s Court, replaying the glorious events of the evening. Not even his sopping sock and the smell of dog piss could erase what he was sure was a stupid grin on his face._

_“Are you riding, mate?” said the cabbie irritably._

_He got in the car, and before the taxi could drive off, he saw Robin running down the stoop still in her red dress, though now barefoot when she was initially wearing heels. He wheeled down his window as she leaned her head inside and kissed him._

_Robin pulled away, panting slightly. “See you tomorrow.” she said, winking. Her beautiful face full of promise that made him want to blast open the door and whisk her back inside, and straight into her bedroom._

_Before Cormoran could do anything else or say anything else however, the taxi sped off back to Denmark Street._

Cormoran was pulled from his recollection by the sound of the doorknob turning. 

For one wild second he expected it to be Robin in the same red dress from his memory. He imagined doing what he should’ve done six months ago before her roommate’s _fucking_ shih tzu pissed on his leg and sent him home to overthink and reconsider. He imagined lifting her like he wanted, wrapping her legs around his waist like he wanted, carrying her up her room…

The door finally opened. It wasn’t Robin.

 

 

 

Robin sat at what she thought of in her head was hers and Cormoran’s regular booth at the Tottenham pub. For her, this pub was the setting of a lot of significant moments in her recent history—the first time she got to know Cormoran, blind drunk and ranting about Charlotte Campbell’s sudden engagement; the place she ran to after splitting up with Matthew that first time, pouring her soul to Cormoran and multiple glasses of wine; it was even the setting of a memory six months ago now inconveniently bubbling to the surface.

_Cormoran was sitting across from her, their hands on the table, hers in his. His thumb running across the back of her hand and sending tingles up her spine. She felt giddy and excited (a little nervous, too), his face was hard to read…_

In this very booth, six months previously, Cormoran told Robin he changed his mind.

Robin remembered how Cormoran said—kindly, and surprisingly loquaciously—the many ways he was unsuitable for her, how they were unsuitable for each other, and that to go any further would be unwise. He spoke words that wanted to convey how she meant to him and the agency, and how he didn’t want anything to jeopardize what both of them have worked so hard to achieve.

She remembered feeling as though the concrete floor was really quick sand, slowly eating her up until she couldn’t breathe. She didn’t cry, though she wanted to. She did not want to show herself upset over a— _whatever it was—_ that didn’t actually materialize. She felt rejected and foolish, wishing he had done this at the office, down the alley, by the dumpsters—anywhere private instead of here, at this noisy pub surrounded by raucous men cheering a football match.

She remembered the look on his face: beseeching, earnest, even forlorn. For a brief moment she pictured slapping him, or throwing her wine at his face. Instead she stood up, Cormoran gripping her withdrawing hand on instinct before letting it slip away as she left without another word.

Robin recalled walking down London’s dark streets that night, aware that Cormoran was a few feet behind her. He followed her placidly, not wanting to get closer, not wanting to explain himself further, not wanting to take it all back. He was just following her to make sure she gets home safely—a maddening act of misguided chivalry that made her want to turn back at him and wildly claw at his face.

She shouldn’t have been surprised that he had read her wrong. That he wouldn’t be able to see past the cloistered, sheltered version of her he felt excruciatingly, frustratingly protective of. She thought she had made it clear that she was capable, that she could take anything and everything that came her way, adjust herself to situations as they are called for. It made her angry that he couldn’t see that this was also true of her personal life. She didn’t expect anything from him, had never expected anything from him—not a ring, not babies, not any of the other stuff he assumed her, accused her of wanting—other than perhaps, to trust her. Trust that she knew what she was doing, what she was signing up for.

She decided that night as she laid in bed crying that she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her brokenhearted or distressed over him. If she walked away from a relationship that lasted for 12 years with her head held high, this ought to be nothing. A blip in the radar. An understanding between two parties not to carry on after two dates.

It had only been two dates, after all, if the last one could even be called a date. _Two days out of a whole life—_

“Robbie,” Robin was jolted from her reverie, Harry looking at her with a concerned look on her face. “Are you alright?”

“You’re here!” said Robin happily, extending her arms to give her cousin a hug.

“I’m not late, am I?” said Harry, taking a seat next to Robin in the booth, running her fingers through her strawberry-blonde curls. “We said 7.”

“No, I was early. Work finished earlier than I expected.”

“Oh yeah! Corm said you’d be coming from Canary Wharf. Still doing work for that finance guy?”

_So she’s already seen him,_ Robin thought distractedly. “Yep. For our long term client. He's building a case against one of his execs.” said Robin towing the line between confiding and keeping confidential. 

Harry was her close friend and cousin, but she was also an investigative journalist. Brighton’s master plan of collating irrefutable evidence against his corrupt execs for an embezzlement charge that will land them 20 years in prison just might be the kind of story she’ll want to do next.

“How was your trip?”

“Surprising.” Harry replied. She had been on a luxury cruise in the Mediterranean the past week. Robin initially thought it interesting when Harry first told her, but was assured that it would be boring work, and that she only deigned to take the assignment because the magazine paid well. Her cousin’s renewed attitude surprised her.

“One of the deck workers confided how their labour company hasn’t paid them in months, and it kind of snowballed from there. Atrocious work conditions, all corners cut. Not sure _Tatler_ will be too chuffed, expecting a fluff piece and getting an exposé. Oh well.” she said, waving her hand as if her latest takedown of a global industry was old news (and for _the_ Harriet Ellacott, it was). 

“What’s new with you?” Harry asked, a suggestive note on her voice. “How’s Dev?”

Robin couldn’t help but smile, her spirits lifting at the thought of her boyfriend.

“Robin Ellacott!” Harry shrieked, mouth gaping in surprise, misreading the smile on Robin’s face. “Have you two finally—“

“No, no.” Robin chuckled. “Not yet. I just need time, I guess. And he’s been so good about waiting.”

A memory suddenly struck Robin like lightning. 

_Cormoran’s face millimeters away from hers, his bulk pinning her to the front door, his large hands firm on her sides, her own arms wrapped around his neck, Bon Bon barking angrily at the huge stranger, Cormoran pulling away as the pungent smell of dog pee filled the living room._

Robin cleared her throat. “He really is so sweet.”

“Happy you’re happy, babes.” said Harry, pulling Robin in a one-armed hug, their heads knocking together gently. It occurred to Robin that this would be the time where she asks after her cousin’s love life, but couldn’t bring herself to do it.

“I’m sure Cormoran’s told you about Prudence Donleavy dropping by the office this morning—“

“What?” Harry said in surprise at the sound of the name. “He didn’t mention _that_!” Robin stilled. She had overstepped. But had she? In the past, Robin was surprised at Harry’s knowledge of some of their cases, with Cormoran sharing some of the broader details to _his girlfriend._ Surely Prudence Donleavy showing up ought to have been mentioned at their earlier reunion, unless they occupied themselves with activities that demanded no mention or thought of blood relatives.

Robin steered her imagination away from dangerous waters and decided that the cat was out of the bag and if she was going to get Harry’s tech contact, she might as well keep talking.

“Came in with a case this morning. Hoping I could get some useful tech contacts from you. Perhaps someone who can decrypt information from a video?”

After the surprise waned, Harry was attentive, carefully listening Robin told her a bit about Prudence’s situation.

“That’s awful!” Harry said, shaking her head. She took out her phone and started tapping. “There’s a tech savant in the city I met when researching that deep web piece for _The Guardian_. She might be able to help out. She’s unbelievable. Don’t think there’s anything online she can’t find. Best of all, she’ll do it for the puzzle! I can set up a meeting if you want.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. We can meet her tomorrow morning if you’re free. I might need to join you and Cormoran. She’s very skittish, took me awhile to earn her trust.”

“That sounds great! It might have to be just us, though. Cormoran—“

“That adulterer in Mayfair. Right.”

Robin was again taken aback at how Harry was privy to the goings-on at the agency, deciding that Cormoran not mentioning Prudence was deliberate. He likely hadn't mention Al, either. But that’s none of her business. If Cormoran would be unhappy she told Harry about his sister, that’s his problem. She said multiple times she was going to ask Harry for contacts, after all.

The two spent the next hour chatting and talking, steering clear of Cormoran and instead talking about Robin’s boyfriend. “But what do you do if you’re not shagging?” Harry asked with bluntness Robin only allowed from her closest friends.

“We’re taking a painting class.” said Robin earnestly, which made them both titter with laughter.

Harry looked out the window and smiled. “You’re right. He really is sweet.”

Robin turned towards the window and from across the street Dev waved, looking very dashing even in a plain grey shirt, a bouquet of Robin’s favorite gerbera daisies in hand. She felt elated and excited, happy to be young and single and falling in love again.


	6. Chapter 05

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's an eventful morning at Denmark Street. Cormoran is reminded of unpleasant events, Robin's morning isn't better, and someone should really do something about the upstairs landing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! This thing isn’t totally abandoned!

> _CHARLES: Let it go, Mattie Fae.  
> _ _STEVE: It’s not a party until someone spills something.  
> _ Tracy Letts, _August: Osage County_

 

_“News from Scotland Yard this morning. Officials are saying they may have a lead in last week’s Haze Heist. We talk to Detective Inspector Richard Anstis—”_

Cormoran flung a large palm over his blaring radio alarm, turning it off. He stretched his arm over the other side of the bed, opening a groggy eye now and seeing the empty space where Harry had been. He was disappointed for a moment, hoping for a reprise of last nights happy sensations. She might already be at that meeting with Robin. They had been far too preoccupied last night to go over timelines.

 _I did actually miss her_ , he told himself suddenly, as though trying to convince an accusatory judge that vaguely took the shape of Ilsa in his mind. Despite the inconvenient memories of his scant past with Robin intruding his psyche as of late, he had longed for Harry, wished she had been around, or had been more available in the last week.

Harry had been sucked into the investigation that fell on her lap while on a cruise. There was also a perceptible drop of Dev’s visits at the office, having been whisked away by a high paying client. Robin was then constantly around even more than usual, working hard as ever, looking beautiful as ever, complementing him as a work partner and friend.

Before that week, their significant others had been constant presences—if not physically, then figuratively—looming over their altered dynamic. It had been easier for Cormoran in some ways to be a platonic male friend to Robin with Harry never too far away. Now, it troubled him to realise how quickly his inexplicable (he refused to refer to it as ‘heartsick’) gloom returned without her keeping it at bay, knowing full well the cause of it not entirely due to him missing his girlfriend.

 _You’re such a bastard,_ he admonished himself, unable to stop the dangerous rumination he usually actively avoided. 

The sound of someone entering his flat was a welcome distraction. Harry coming in and out of his tiny two bedroom apartment was a new development in their relationship. None of his other paramours since Charlotte had gotten this far. Lorelei had been around a handful of times, but never with the casual frequency of Harry treating it as a sort of secondary home to her primary place at Earl’s Court.

She walked into the modest bedroom in workout clothes, sweaty from a morning run. Her clothes hugging her fit form enticingly, face flushed as she beamed at him. “Morning!”

“What time’s your breakfast?” Cormoran asked, a trained eye checking the alarm clock on his bedside table. It was half past seven exactly. “Eight thirty.” said Harry, walking up to Cormoran and running her finger through his short hair. He placed a large hand on her hip and pulled her closer.

Harry leaned into him and Cormoran lost no time kissing her neck, intent on making up for lost time. A week away had been too long, and he missed her near-insatiability in bed. He had forgotten the unique pleasures of dating a twenty-something.

Even sweaty she smelled like cotton candy. He initially thought her perfume sickly sweet, but have now come to associate it with the decadent taste of her skin.

He moved to lay over her on the bed, looming large above as he pulled her hair tie off, releasing her wild strawberry blonde curls that gilded her beautiful face. She giggled at him, fingernails scratching the expanse of his back, making him stretch luxuriously like a cat. He gave her a wry smile before turning his attention to her body, mouthing every part of her he could, contemplating if he could pull off opening her tracksuit with his teeth.

And then he felt it. A rough line of stitching by the shoulder that wasn’t quite like the rest. He felt it again with the tip of his thumb. He stilled.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked, confused.

He couldn’t help it.

“This is Robin’s.”

“What?” said Harry. He could feel her hand on his chest, pushing him way ever so slightly. “No.”

Cormoran could feel tension build between them. Robin’s name leaving his tongue just then, on his bed, with Harry beneath him felt almost taboo. _Fuck_.

Then he saw her glance at where his thumb was still resting on her shoulder, her expression lightening just as abruptly. “Oh,” she said, mollified. “I guess it is.” she shrugged, and then gave him a shrewd smile.

He knew they were remembering the same thing (though likely very differently)—an afternoon nearly six months ago when he felt his relationship with Robin was at their most tenuous. Incidentally, it was the same afternoon he met Harry for the first time. Though he would always remember he though her pretty and initially assumed her to bear an excruciatingly chipper disposition (her smile so wide, so easy on her delicate features), that initial meeting would always be eclipsed by the moment he thought he had lost Robin forever.

In the immediate aftermath of their _disastrous attempt_ , Robin had adopted a strictly professional and matter-of-fact manner with him that he found more gutting than outward contempt. To salvage their friendship, Cormoran decided to show up at Deptford where he knew Nick, Ilsa, and Vanessa, as well as Robin’s brothers were helping her move the last of her belongings out of the apartment she shared with Matthew.

He hadn’t been invited and was prepared to leave immediately when turned away, but just in case Robin did need another hand (even if it would be his), he wanted to offer it. Unfortunately, he had walked into the flat in time to see Robin twisting her arm away from Matthew’s tight grip, yelling for him to let go as he hurled back insults. Cormoran’s only thought was that _finally_ , the fucker has done something that necessitated his boxer’s fist colliding with his clean-cut jaw.

Matthew staggered, falling into a misplaced couch. Cormoran had a split-second to feel satisfaction, before turning back to Robin. First, he noticed Robin’s sleeve split at the shoulder, then he saw the look of shock, anger, and disgust directed not at Matthew, but himself. Robin had been flanked by Martin (who had whooped) and a then-unknown pretty blonde who stood agape at the scene.

Losing all appetite, Cormoran hoisted himself off Harry and left the room in a sour mood. 

 

 

 

 

 

Robin walked along Charing Cross Road with a spring in her step. Last night’s drinks with Harry and her new boyfriend, Dev, left her in great spirits. Harry never got on well with Matthew. She realized during the arduous process of dissolving their short-lived marriage, that Matthew never on well with the people most important to her.

She now realized that what she previously assumed was playful boyish teasing between her younger brother Martin and Matthew was actually open dislike. Her other brothers kind of just ignored Matthew. Even her parents, she now suspected, only tolerated him best the could.

Cormoran, on the other hand (that she immediately thought of her work partner as counter argument, she didn’t really acknowledge), got on very well with her family. _Too_ well, as in the case of Harry. But her mum liked Cormoran on the outset, as did Stephen. Martin had decided he liked Cormoran long before they even met, and Jonathan seemed to have followed suit with the rest of the family. Her father was an outlier, though he didn’t have an opportunity to know Cormoran properly just yet.

With her cheerfulness, Robin decided to buy herself and both Cormoran and Harry coffee. She made her way up the stairs, excited for what the day brings. She’s got her first _real_ case, her best friend was back in town, she was getting on better with Cormoran, her boyfriend was—

It happened in an instant. Robin heard herself shriek as she collided with Harry who had been rushing out of the office. Robin thought fast, twisting to fall back against the railing instead of the staircase steps just behind her.

Three hot coffees were all over her front, sopping her clothes and seeping into her skin. She felt as though her chest would blister. She could only concentrate on the feeling of pain, of wanting so bad to shuck off her top and run ice cold water down her front.

She felt Harry pull her inside and into the front of the sink of the office’s tiny kitchen. He heard Cormoran’s low voice, trying to get rid of Crowdy who had stomped up their landing due to the commotion. “Just a tiny spill!” she heard him say before closing the door.

“Oh god, _Robbie!_ I’m so sorry!”

Harry was ineffectually wiping tissues all over Robin’s front. A frantic, apologetic, and worried look on her face.

“It’s okay,” said Robin as kindly as she could though her words were undercut by her wincing almost immediately as a swipe of Harriet’s hand pressed against Robin’s raw skin.

“I think you have to take it off,” said Harry. Robin thought it was a good idea, even if she knew her camisole underneath is just as sodden and ruined as her sweater. At this point, she’d do anything short of going naked to soothe her stinging skin.

Robin could feel the cool air against her bare back as she tugged her sweater up. _Shit_. Her camisole was stuck to her sweater. She felt Harriet’s hand pull it down over her back. Robin was acutely aware of Cormoran also being in the room with them, though from the sound of slopping, he was wiping spilt coffee off the floor.

“Use my bathroom.” she heard him say. She then felt herself being pulled by the elbow and led into the staircase. Harry was walking ahead of her, fruitlessly fanning Robin’s front to ease the prickling heat.

Robin walked straight towards Cormoran’s tiny bathroom and immediately removed her top, soaked it in cold water by the sink and dabbed it on her chest, the cold water a salve to her stinging skin. 

She caught her reflection in the mirror, her entire chest an angry shade of red up to her neck, her once white bra stained and sticky against her skin, her nipples now visible through the ruined lace.

She felt uneasy now, a feeling that had nothing to do with first degree burns and everything to do with being practically naked in Cormoran’s tiny bathroom. She took a quick look around and everything was within reach. If she stretched her arms to either side, she reckoned she would be able to measure the length of it.

She wondered idly how Cormoran could fit in such a tiny space. An image of him large and hairy and naked popping into her imagination. She shook her head, feeling a blush creep up to her cheeks.

She remembered standing against the doorway of the tiny bathroom while Cormoran was inside. She had been grilling him about who he assumed sent them the severed part of a woman’s leg. Now that she was in his place, she thought that memory to be recklessly intimate. Being in his flat at all was stampeding over boundaries she ought to not have crossed with her _work_ partner—somebody’s body part lying on her desk notwithstanding.

The door to the tiny bathroom unceremoniously opened, and Robin instinctively crossed her arms over her chest and bent over, but relaxed when she realized it was only Harry. Of course it was only Harry. Robin mentally chided herself for even thinking it could’ve been Cormoran. He may be a tough nut to crack, but she knew him well enough to be certain that with him, or with him around, she was quite safe—including from himself.

“Damn. That’s ruined.” said Harriet, looking at the state of Robin’s bra. “I’ll buy you another one.”

“That’s alright,” Robin smiled. “I probably should have chucked this years ago.”

“So,” said Harriet, looking at Robin from the mirror. “Thanks for the coffee.”

The two burst out laughing and it was awhile before they stopped.

“Here. Wear this.” said Harriet, handing Robin a sweater that was familiar to her. It was clearly one of Cormoran’s sweaters. A woolly gray one that Robin thought made Cormoran look like a gentle giant whenever he wore it. Robin hesitated.

“Corm won’t mind.”

Robin regarded her cousin leaning against the bathroom’s doorway, arm still outstretched, offering her the sweater. She couldn’t explain it, but it came like a sudden flash— an acute awareness that her best friend is in a relationship with her work partner, the same man she had feelings for, wanted to be with before he had changed his mind. She felt the rush of rejection all over again.

Robin took the offered sweater, and as she wore it over her half-naked body, she suddenly didn’t feel like smiling anymore.

 

 

 

 

 

Cormoran tried not to think about Robin’s bare back as he wrung the rag onto the sink. The office smelled of coffee now, which was not unpleasant. He was primarily worried about her taking three scalding hot coffees to the chest, of course. He resolved to talk to the landlord about doing something with the landing. This isn’t the first time Robin was nearly killed just walking up to the office.

Of course, that first near-accident had proven significant, and one Cormoran has now decided a Kairos moment between them both. Perhaps even a fork in the road of his life. If he hadn’t nearly body-slammed Robin down the stairs, if he didn’t have to placate her in the immediate aftermath, he certainly would’ve caught up with Charlotte. They might never have met.

The thought nearly made him shudder.

He couldn’t imagine his practice or even his day-to-day without Robin. He was prepared to lay down anything, everything to keep her in his life.

The Ellacott cousins reappeared, Robin now dwarfed by wearing Cormoran’s own gray sweater. He tried not to recall the many other times he saw women wearing his clothes. This might be the first instance where it hadn’t precluded sexual intimacy.

“You okay?” he asked Robin.

“Fine.” she said, reassuringly.

“C’mon, Robbie.”

Harry was already out the door without saying goodbye. Cormoran wasn’t quite sure what happened there, or who was supposed to be mad at who. But the workday has already started, and he won’t allow it to impede upon what needed to be done.

Robin, however, looked at the now-closed door with a questioning look before reverting to a matter-of-fact manner.

“I’ll call you after our meeting. I’ll be back here before ten, I reckon. Still available to accompany me to Bromley this afternoon?” she asked.

“Yep. Business at Mayfair shouldn’t take too long. Just a little more and we’ll have him dead to rights. Might not be available to take calls, so I’ve told Barclay to call you about Bad Architect.”

“No problem.”

Most uncharacteristically, Cormoran added, “You go on ahead, Robin. I’ll leave in a few minutes; give her a head start.”

 

 

 

 

 

When Robin caught up with Harry by the curb, she was surprised to find Dev with her. He was wearing a sports coat over his usual gray t-shirt this morning. Clean cut, his mid-length hair slicked back. He looked positively dashing. When he finally spotted her, he beamed and Robin felt her insides flutter.

“Interesting fashion choice,” he said as he kissed her cheek. And then unabashedly whiffed her neck. “and scent. You okay?”

“I’m fine.” she said, smiling. 

Dev stepped back. “Stay there. Won’t be a sec.”

They watched him turn at the end of the street. 

“D’you think your coder friend—“

“Five?”

“Her name’s Five?”

“Her actual legal name, if you can believe it.”

It was an unusual name, Robin had to admit, but she did know someone named after the giant from Jack and the Beanstalk.

“Do you think she’d mind if I look like this for the meeting?”

“I honestly don’t think she’d notice.”

Just then, Dev turned up, jogging up to them. He had a paper bag in his hand. “Here.”

Robin took it and pulled what was inside. It was a light blue button-down shirt. She was stunned. He couldn’t have ran to a shop, picked out a shirt, bought it, and ran back in the minute he had been away.

“I saw it the other day and thought you might like it.” he said quite shyly. Robin was suddenly acutely aware of Harry watching them with rapt amusement and attention.

“Do you like it? Oh god! You hate it. Oh man. I’ve fucked up in some way, haven’t I?” Dev looked genuinely distressed, Robin laughed.

“No. I love it!” she said, kissing him again.

“Really?”

“Really really.” said Robin. “What are you doing here?”

He pulled a small baggie with tiny screws inside, waving his other hand as though he just pulled off a magic trick. _“Et voila!”_

Robin giggled.

“Screws for the computer. Got a bit of time before my appointment this morning and thought I’d put it in.”

“That’s very sweet of you,” said Robin, genuinely touched. She gave him a peck on the lips.

“Anyone upstairs? Corm still in?” asked Dev casually.

Robin noticed Cormoran just standing by the front of the building, looking at them. _How long had he been there?_

“Hiya Corm!” said Dev cheerfully. And then to Robin, “Guess I’ll have to do it later, then. No one’s upstairs? Not Sam?”

“No.” said Robin, stepping a little away from Dev, feeling self conscious about Cormoran being there. She felt like she had been caught doing something she shouldn’t have. She was on the clock now, technically, and she had been caught dawdling with her boyfriend. “Come by for lunch. You can put these then.”

From the corner of her eye, he saw Cormoran take Harry’s hand and lead her a few steps away and out of earshot.

“Sounds like a plan.” said Dev and Robin felt his lip on her cheek. “See you!”

“See you! Thanks for the shirt.” she called to him as he walked away. He turned completely around to face her, walking backwards for a moment just so he could wink.

“Ready?” Harriet was suddenly next to her.

“Yeah.” Robin replied, and they walked the other end. Cormoran had already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of a filler chapter*
> 
> I have to say, I don’t really know why this narrative is framed against so many flashbacks. I honestly didn’t plan it to happen this way. Lol. A lot of these scenes sort of unravel on their own, tbh.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and the kudos, and the comments! They motivate me to keep this going. <3
> 
> *or is it?


	7. Chapter 06

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin and Harry interview a tech savant, Cormoran answers yet another distress call from Al.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changed the rating. Some disturbing things happen in this one.

> _Canyou imagine anything more cruel, to make me responsible?    
>  __Just to weaken me, make me prove my character?  
>  _ Tracy Letts, _August Osage County_

 

 

 

Robin didn’t know what Five looked like before meeting her, but as soon as the young woman entered the cafe, she knew for certain she was the coder. Nearly six feet in trainers, she was modelesque thin with a bleached blonde bowl hair cut. She was wearing green cargo pants and a beige t-shirt that had ‘Ignore Alien Orders’ printed on it, and carrying a large duffel bag.

An older man sitting alone at the counter was openly leering as she walked past. Five turned to the man. “Can I help you?” she yelled to his face in an American accent. Appalled, the man swivelled back to his English breakfast.

Robin recalled Harry saying Five could be very skittish.

The coder finally spotted them, gave a nod of acknowledgement at their direction and walked up to their table.

She lost no time pulling out a bulky laptop and booting it up. “Do you have the video?” she asked in lieu of a hello.

“Uh,” said Robin, a little taken aback, but pulled out a data stick from her purse regardless and handed it to her. She turned to Harry who signalled at Robin with a look as though saying, “Yep. She’s always like that.”

“Harry said you could help trace when and where the video was made?” said Robin.

Five typed away for about a minute before stopping. She turned her laptop to show the screen to Robin and Harry. It was a black screen with near-indecipherable strings of numbers and letters. 

“These numbers below,” said Five, pointing to a string that looked to Robin to be coordinates. “are coordinates.” the coder verified.

“And these numbers,” Five pointed to a long string of seemingly random numbers. “is the date.”

“Of when the video was made?” Robin said, stunned. Could it really be that easy?

“Yep. But I’m pretty sure it’s faked.”

“How would you know that?” Harry asked.

“The date string will need decoding, and we can do that but I recognize the coordinates from this underground hacker group, Bermuda. They always sign their work by coding files they trade to generate coordinates from the same location.”

“The coordinates are in the Bermuda Triangle?” Robin offered.

“Yep.”

Robin was scribbling on a small notepad. “And if the location is faked, the date would be faked too?”

“Most likely, but I can run it to check. It’ll take awhile though. The software will take maybe one or two hours depending on how encrypted it is.”

“And the coordinates, was that also encrypted?”

“Yep. I just ran the metadata through a script I wrote and pulled up the coordinates. I don’t have a script to decode the date. I’ll have to run it through multiple software first.”

“Ah.”

“Would you know anything about Bermuda?”

Five shrugged. “Just that they’re gross cave dwellers. Operates on the dark web. They sell video metadata encryption and decryption for pervs and criminals to upload disgusting, disturbing shit online. Snuff films, CP, blackmail videos. I would’ve been surprised if this hadn’t been encrypted by Bermuda.”

Robin tried to stay as blasé as the young coder who Robin guessed wouldn’t be older than 21. “Would you know how many people are part of Bermuda?”

Five shook her head, thinking. “Could be thousands, could be one sicko living in his mom’s basement. The CIA can’t even find them, you know?”

Five turned the laptop back to face her and started typing away again.

“The piece I consulted with Five on also had Bermuda all over it.” Harry added to Robin. She referred to an article she wrote for _The Guardian_ about how stolen luxury vehicles are bought and sold on the deep web. “Stripped the photos of their metadata and replaced with their signature coordinates and gave them dates from the 16th century or something. Forensics had to comb through every pixel of every photo just to find a lead.”

“In the end they blew the op wide open when a Bentley’s paint job reflected a McDonald’s across the street. Combed through all McDonalds to see which one may have premises in front of them that could house stolen luxury cars.”

Five turned her laptop to face the other two again. This time, the screen was of the familiar clown that taunted Prudence Donleavy, trying to extort millions of quid from her. It looked different now. Brighter. Exposed like this, Robin could tell the person was recording in front of a nondescript yellow curtain. Robin can also now better see the eyes of the person behind the terrifying mask, as well as the outline of their ears behind the cartoonish orange hair.

“Oh my god!” she exclaimed, surprised at how clearer it now looked. It still wasn’t a lot to go on, but anything could be helpful at this point.

“You’ll need military-grade software to enhance it any better. They have stuff that can probably see the reflection off his eyeballs.” said Five.

“No, this is incredible. It’s so helpful!” said Robin, elated. Five took her laptop back and started typing furiously away again.

“Okay. I gotta go. Get this fucker, okay?” she told Robin as she handed Robin back her data stick and unceremoniously shoved her things back into the duffel bag.

“Thank you so much, Five. It was nice meeting you.” Robin held out a hand. Five looked at it for a moment before deciding to shake it.

The cousins waited until Five was out of the cafe before speaking to each other.

“She liked you. She doesn’t usually shake people’s hands.” said Harry.

“She’s very talented. What does she do?”

“Games developer at Nintendo.” said Harry. “One of Caltech’s youngest graduates. Could’ve gone to CERN or NASA. The CIA wanted her for a time, too. Instead she’s developing a new _Zelda.”_

Robin took a moment to ponder how she may have just met one of the world’s greatest tech geniuses who instead chose to make games when she checked her phone. Someone was calling her at that same moment. It was Al.

“Hiya!” Robin said cheerfully. “Can’t really—“

Al was in such hysterics, it made Robin spring up from her seat. She couldn’t make out a single word of what he was saying, but she felt herself moving from behind the table regardless, grabbing her purse. He sounded completely distressed, maybe even hurt.

“Al! Slow down! What’s happened?”

She looked back at Harry who looked confused before standing up to follow Robin, dropping indiscernible bills on the table to catch up.

The only thing Robin gleaned between Al’s disturbing pleas for Cormoran to come was an address in Kennington. She was practically running through the cafe and into the curb now. “I’m coming! Stay put!” she yelled into the phone before hanging up abruptly, knowing she needed to call someone, anyone.

She didn’t bother to ring Cormoran, knowing there was a chance he wouldn’t answer. But Barclay was on call, and should be somewhere in Waterloo if Bad Architect was keeping to his usual routine.

She dialled their contractor while hailing a taxi with her other hand. “Hey, Rob! Was just about to ring—“ she felt relief at the sound of his voice on the first ring. She was just about to cut him off when she was distracted by someone calling her.

“Robbie!” 

She spun around. Harry was now right by her. Without thinking, she grabbed her cousin’s hand and pulled her into the taxi with her. She gave the cabbie the address and returned to Barclay who was still spouting a stream of updates to his case.

“Sam! STOP!” she bellowed into the mobile. The voice on the other end stopped talking immediately. Robin told him to go to the address Al had given. “I think something’s happened. Someone might’ve been injured. Cormoran’s brother—”

“Got it.” said Barclay calmly, as though a soldier receiving his marching orders. Robin hung up the phone. Sam’s on his way, she’s on her way, Harry’s even with her. “Help’s coming, Al.” she muttered under her breath.

“What’s going on?” Harry demanded, completely bewildered at what had just transpired. “What happened to Al?”

“I don’t know. I think he’s injured, or someone’s injured.”

Robin felt compelled then to tell Harry about Al’s run-in with a Russian mobster yesterday. “I told him he could go home, that he’d be okay.” said Robin, feeling overwhelmed with regret. But something about the situation didn’t make sense. How was he able to call if he’s being beat up or held…

“We should call the police, Robin. If there’s been an attack—“ said Harry, already dialling on her mobile. Robin didn’t stop her.

Harry was still on the phone with the operator when the cab stopped at their destination. She handed the driver a few bills without even looking at the meter. Robin let her, practically kicking the door open to get out, still not losing her sense of urgency.

The gate was already askew. Barclay was already there.

 

 

 

 

 

The scene is horrific. There was blood all over the bathroom. Al himself was kneeling on a tiny pool of it, as he hovered over the unconscious body. Even from behind Cormoran could tell whatever Al was doing, he was doing it incorrectly.

He roughly pulled Al off of his brother, and checked the state of him. He was white, as though dead. His mouth was agape and he could hear a faint wheezing. Cormoran’s instinct kicked in like muscle memory. He pulled Eddie up and looked around the pure white bathroom speckled with blood. He spotted the medicine cabinet.

 _Thank fuck!_ he thought as he spotted the Narcan. He administered it to Eddie and saw as his breathing started to become more even. His eyes started fluttering like he was becoming awake. Cormoran was wrapping a tourniquet around the cuts on Eddie’s arm when he heard the unmistakeable sound of both Robin and Harry downstairs calling Al.

“Al!”

“What’s happened?“

It was Barclay.

“Barclay! Don’t let them up here!” Cormoran bellowed. “Call an ambulance!”

Footsteps up the stairs. From the light and fast pace, he was sure it was female. _Damn it!_

“They’re already coming! They’re already—“

Robin stopped at the door and took in the sight. He watched as the color drained from her face.

She turned to Al, who had propped himself against a wall. He was still crying. Robin bent towards him. “Are you hurt?” she asked. He shook his head. Taking his hand, she helped him up and led him out the door.

It was lucky that Cormoran took a second to check his phone for whichever idiot had been calling his mobile nonstop. It vibrated for ten or so minutes straight in his coat pocket, keeping him from being able to stand directly behind his mark as he lined up for coffee to listen to his phone call with the mistress.

The caller turned out to be Al, who had alternately called and texted increasingly incomprehensible messages. He called Al back and had to talk him down from equally incomprehensible mewling to get a gist of what had happened, and where he was. Comoran then ran back to his BMW and drove to Kennington.

Cormoran turned back to Eddie. He looked thinner than when he last remembered seeing him, but not yet unhealthy or dirty or wasting away like the many down and outs he’s encountered in childhood. Apart from the fresh cuts in his arms, it was free of track marks or any telltale sign of someone who was a drug addict. But of course, money and youth can go far when hiding one’s addictions, and that there was Narcan at all in the flat pointed to him being an addict.

He was getting on better with Eddie lately. At least, _more_ compared to near total indifference a couple of years back. Al had gotten them together once after the Chiswell case, and Eddie told him Rafael had fucked a boyfriend of his out of spite. He was keen to know more about the circumstances of the case, and Cormoran, who was enjoying his steak and bottomless pint, had been in a good enough mood to talk.

It was a pity, Cormoran thought. Eddie was very young. Twenty-five. And looked even younger, lying barely conscious on the bathroom floor like that. He remembered hearing one of his songs playing on the radio once, surprised it sounded nothing like Rokeby’s pseudo-metal noise at all. He liked his folk-sy sound, respected even more that he dropped the shit boyband he was with and changed her stage name from Eddie Rokeby to Ed Graham.

Cormoran pulled Eddie’s arm to lie on his side, just in case he throws up.

And then suddenly, as though an epiphany, a realization came to him: he was Eddie’s big brother. And Al’s, and Prudence’s. Much as he disliked it, felt inconvenienced (and even used) by their imposition and assumption he would make himself available for them, he has a responsibility to help. To be the gruff elder brother that would get them out of serious trouble.

This was serious trouble.

And they were happening one after the other.

 

 

 

 

 

Robin had never before seen an act of chaos like that in person. It looked like a gory scene from a movie. Blood all over the walls, pools of it on the floor, Ed Graham dead or dying, bleeding into a fur rug.

_Is it worth it?_

The internal thought caught her by surprise. Never had it crossed her mind before. It was always implicit, or so she thought it was. But nothing she had ever witnessed in her line of work was close to the image of raw human desperation and violence. It had been the blood, she knew. So much of it smeared around what she imagined was a pristine white bathroom. The incongruence had been most upsetting. Nothing that horrid ought to happen somewhere so staid, so sterile.

She always knew that gruesomeness came hand in hand with her line of work, but she realized she never understood exactly what that meant. Cormoran must have seen worse, experienced worse. How is he alright, with everything he’s witnessed in his life? She, who is usually spared the brunt of the gory and danger and human horridness, had been sent to therapy for much less.

“Robbie!”

“What?” said Robin, realizing everyone was already in the BMW and was only waiting for her to pull the car to gear.

“You okay? Want me to drive?” Cormoran asked from the passenger’s seat.

“I’m fine.” she said automatically and easily maneuvered the car from its parking spot and into the street.

They stayed silent as they followed the ambulance at a distance, Robin trying not to feel overwhelmed at the look of hopelessness Al would cast them every few minutes, seemingly turning from his dying brother to them right behind. He looked so pitiable like that, eyes bloodshot from crying, his bruises darker than yesterday. 

He’s been having such a tough week, Robin thought. Yesterday it had been Arza. Today, it was Eddie.

And then there was also Prudence.

It was a curious coincidence that Cormoran’s siblings seem to be having a supremely terrible week at the same time. Is it likely, that these are pure coincidences? Of course, there was nothing connecting all three things to each other, other than they all seem to share the same father. Prudence is being blackmailed with a sex tape, Al is in trouble with a Russian mobster. Eddie, well, she wasn’t quite sure what happened to Eddie (though she has her assumptions), only that _something_ happened.

There were no theories forming in her mind, no clarity whatsoever. There was only a hunch, a gut-feel she knew Cormoran would deplore and even dismiss if she voiced it in this state. But she sensed that there might be something else at play. Something more than the universe playing a cruel trick on one family, if it’s even that.

From the distance, Robin watched as the ambulance pulled up the emergency parking, watched as Al got off and got in the way of the paramedics trying to remove the gurney carrying his younger brother. The frantic fright on Al’s face made her tender to him, putting herself in his shoes. If it was Martin who was the family’s troublemaker, their youngest, the most tetchy of his brothers?

 _But Martin isn’t into drugs. And he wouldn’t do anything to_ —she couldn’t even finish the thought, not even in the safe confines of her mind.

She drove past the emergency area to find the proper parking spot for the old BMW. She got off and followed Cormoran who was already walking towards the entrance. She saw Harry catch up to him and watched as he held out a hand to her. As he entwined his finger in hers, Robin felt sad all over again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I could polish up the writing a bit more, but I just get too excited about telling the story I kind of forget what the eff tense I should be writing in. Lol. I'll clean up these chapters some time, promise!
> 
> Thanks for reading! Hopefully you're enjoying the mystery, too! Let me know what you think of the story so far. :)
> 
> PS. The metadata tech and even the OD first response is (mostly) a figment of my imagination, please don't take them as fact.


	8. Chapter 07

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry tells Robin something very important. Meanwhile, Cormoran runs into family.

 

> _We’re just people, some of us accidentally connected by genetics,  
>  a random selection of cells.  
>  _ Tracy Letts, _August Osage County_

 

“Poor Eddie,” said Harry as she took a sip of her coffee. “Addiction is just awful.”

Robin agreed.

The two had moved to the McDonald’s across the street from the hospital, leaving Cormoran and Al to wait for the doctor with updates about Eddie’s state. It had been Robin’s idea, fearing she would only get in the way. She wasn’t anyone to Ed Graham, and Al had his brother there with him, and Cormoran had Harry. She was surprised, but glad when Harry chose to go with her instead.

This wasn’t something either of them had much experience or knowledge of. No one in their family had this kind of problem. There was a lot about humanity and reality Robin only understood after working as a private detective. She felt excessively sheltered and frustratingly privileged, with her docile upbringing and small town comforts. Addiction and mobsters and blackmail and murder and all of it did not exist in her tiny bubble in Masham. They were extremities that took fictional form in her mind, literary license to add flavour to films and books and television shows. Until the gorilla mask…

A phone ringing woke Robin out of her stupor. It was Harry’s. She took one look at her screen and cursed, standing up abruptly and taking the phone call without excusing herself.

Robin watched her cousin take the phone call for awhile, a very serious look on her face. She didn’t notice the man who walked up to their table. “If it isn’t my favorite detective!”

Robin looked up. _Shit._

Dominic Culpepper took Harry’s seat. “Where’s Beast, Beauty? In there, is he?”

Robin didn’t respond. It was like Culpepper to be the prime example of journalist bottom feeders. Out the window, Robin spotted news vans starting to converge in front of the premises.

“Who’s in the hospital?” he asked bluntly.

Not a peep from Robin. “You don’t have to tell me. We know it’s Ed Graham.”

Robin glared at Culpepper. She longed to tell him to fuck off, to ask him how dare he capitalize on the vulnerability of a sick young man for a salacious story. But she held her tongue, knowing that whatever she says to him will be printed and the agency cannot afford the onslaught of attention.

“What I really want to know, is what you were doing at Prudence Donleavy’s office yesterday.”

Robin was furious. So Mitch Patterson was tailing her yesterday, and they had underestimated him. He had followed Robin well enough for her not to notice, and for him to know which office she went to. If Culpepper and Patterson are sniffing around, it’s very bad news.

“But I see someone’s already got the scoop.” Robin looked at him squarely on the face, offended. He leaned back and threw his hand up in mock surrender. She wanted to set him right. Say that Harry was her cousin, was Cormoran’s—anyway, she wasn’t around to get a salacious story.

Before Robin could utter another word, Culpepper got up and she watched as he crossed the street and joined the throngs of reporters waiting on what will happen next.

Harry returned, putting her phone in her pocket.

“Was that _The Daily Mail_?” said Harry, gesturing to indicate she saw Culpepper walking away from her.

“Yep. They’re stalking me, apparently.” Robin responded as casually as she could. She’d be lying if she didn’t feel unnerved to learn that she has journalists on her tail.

“Have you told Corm?”

“Nearly punched another private investigator yesterday, so I reckon he already knows.”

Harry took in that statement a moment. Robin thought she’d ask about it, but only shook her head as she sat down. There was a renewed urgency about her.

“I just got a call from one of my editor friends. They wanted me to write about the Haze Heist that happened the other day.”

“The burglary that nicked a million quid’s worth of paintings?”

“It’s only actually valued at half— anyway, my editor said she’s got a source from the gallery that took inventory of everything that went missing and apparently, they only took work by a specific artist.” she leaned closer, as though afraid of being overheard. “All from one person’s private collection. It wasn’t random at all like they originally said.”

“Okay.” said Robin, unsure of where this was going, but feeling a hitch of excitement at the pit of her stomach.

“All the paintings that were stolen were by the artist Shirley Mullens, and they were all owned by her daughter, Maimie Rokeby-Wright.”

 

 

 

 

 

It occurred to Cormoran that he’s been around Al enough to know that this hysterical, slightly defeated attitude he has over blows of fate is typical for him. Of course, he might be worried about his younger brother, but then again, he’s also been around enough family members of hurt or even dead people to know that hysterics are usually the aftermath of tragedy, not a gut reaction as it’s happening. Adrenaline tends to give people a moment of clarity long enough to make quick assessments and quicker action.

Not Al.

Al was seated across from him, eyes bloodshot and wet, staring unblinkingly at the floor. He was bouncing his leg up and down repeatedly and biting his nails. He was oddly reminded of Jack, and how he looked so vulnerable, and how he, himself, felt so powerless to help Jack in his state of illness.

But Jack wouldn’t grow up spoiled and sheltered, not in the extreme way that has made mush of this grown adult in front of him. _Nothing’s even happened yet_ , thought Cormoran. It wasn’t exactly true. His brother was lying unconscious on a hospital bed somewhere, and Al does have bruises sustained from a beating. But these are mere precursors, the lead up to a horrific main event. It’s usually death. Sometimes it’s having your leg blown off. What it is, is an irrevocable change to life as you know it. Where you can clearly split your lifespan into a before, and an after.

Al stood up suddenly, a tearful and hopeful look on his face. The doctor stopped by Cormoran and Al took the few steps to come nearer.

“He’s going to be alright,” said the doctor soberly. “We managed to clear out his system before much of the drugs went into his bloodstream. His cuts didn’t hit any arteries. We suspect he was merely trying to release natural endorphins.”

Cormoran held Al by the arm to keep him upright, he had swayed with relief at the news.

“But Mr. Rokeby, your bother needs serious help.” said the doctor. “If there’s a next one, he won’t survive it.”

Al was nodding vigorously, head bowed as he openly wept. Cormoran felt a little abandoned by Robin and Harriet, who both would be better equipped to handle Al in this state.

“He’s been transferred to a private ward, you can visit him now.” said the doctor, giving Al a pat on the shoulder, Cormoran a nod, then walked away.

“Al!”

Both brothers turned around. A beautiful woman in jeans, boots, and a grey poncho was rushing towards them, her red hair in a bun. She kept her sunglasses on, even indoors. She gave Al a quick hug, and then gave Cormoran one, too, which he accepted stiffly.

It was Gabriella.

“What happened? Has dad arrived? How’s Eddie?”

She was clearly talking to both of them, treating Cormoran with the same familiarity she does with the brother she actually grew up with. His relationship to his particular half-sibling is practically non-existent, save for occasional holiday gift exchanges and birthday greetings. He met her at a posh restaurant once, on the insistence of Charlotte who predictably ran in the same circles with Rokeby’s legitimate children. She had been ingratiating then, though Cormoran found the night arduous, full of gossip about rich people.

Charlotte spent the drive back to her apartment mocking Gabriella—mostly about the shady things her husband gets up to that she purportedly had no idea about, the newly blonde hair that didn’t suit her features, the weight she put on during pregnancy that she hadn’t managed to shed. Cormoran didn’t bear any loyalty towards his half-sister, but he remembered being irked, thinking about the many ugly things coming out of such a beautiful creature.

Al calmed down enough to respond to her coherently. “They’ve just taken him to a private room.”

“Good. That’s good.” said Gabi, kindly, putting an arm around Al as they walked towards the elevator. Cormoran was about to follow suit when he felt a soft squeeze in his finger and yanked it immediately on instinct.

Looking down, a petrified little girl with wide blue eyes was looking up at him. She was wearing the exact same outfit Gabriella had on, her hair also tied in a tight bun on her head.

“Err,” said Cormoran, completely at a loss. “I think you forgot something.”

Both Gabi and Al stopped in their tracks and turned around.

“Oh!” said Gabi, walking back to where Cormoran and the little girl was. “Sweetie, this is your uncle Cormoran.” said Gabi who had bent down and was now pointing up at his large, awkward frame next to them. The little girl seemed to retreat towards her mother, refusing to speak.

“Would you like to walk with Uncle Cormoran to see your Uncle Eddie?”

 _Christ, no!_ Cormoran was hating this day more and more, wondering where on earth his girlfriend and his partner have gone. Isn’t this one of the things he supposedly can avoid by surrounding himself with women? He doesn’t know how to talk to children. He barely knew how to talk to the child’s mother.

A timid bob of the head was all Gabi needed.

“Okay. You go hold his hand. Go on.”

Cormoran thought how ridiculous it was that her mother was pawning the little girl off to a large stranger, and he didn’t even know what her name was. Has he ever been told? Was he just supposed to know?

She slipped her small hand in Cormoran’s, who instantly felt bigger and scarier than he usually was. There is nothing worse than this, he decided. His life has been a series of one situation he couldn’t get out of to the next.

Gabi was already joining Al again.

Cormoran supposed he ought to walk, so he did. The little girl didn’t budge.

“What is it?” he said, and then cleared his throat to say it again in a milder voice. “What?” (He didn’t sound any gentler.)

The little girl pointed to her tiny feet. Her shoelaces were undone.

 _Great_.

Cormoran haplessly looked around, wondering how idiotic he must seem, being so large with this very tiny child underfoot. To bend down and tie it himself would be catastrophic to his knee, and the last thing he needed was for any of the people going about to help him upright again.

He was just about to lift the child when he spotted Harry and Robin walk in the hospital entrance.

“Thank fuck! I mean—“

The little girl didn’t seem to notice he swore.

“Could you help her?” Cormoran called out to both women who quickened their pace.

“Who’s this?” said Robin, smiling at the little girl (though Cormoran suspected the little smirk was also a chide to him).

“Gabriella’s daughter. She already went up with Al. Left me with her.”

“Your name’s Annie?” Harry had bent down and was tying the little girl’s shoes. The little girl nodded.

“How’d you know her name?” Cormoran asked.

Harry picked up the little girl with ease and Cormoran could see she was wearing a gold necklace that said ‘Annie’. The little girl seemed perfectly at ease with her, hugging Harry while giving Cormoran a glare as though he had done her a great offense.

“My name’s Harry, and this is Robbie. They rhyme with your name.”

Cormoran supposed it was female intuition or innate maternal instinct that allowed Harry to just know how to talk to very young children. He supposed it was the same sort of nature that endeared his nephews to her the moment they met her (though for the case of his eldest nephew just about to hit puberty, he might be reacting to something else innately female about his uncle’s girlfriend).

Cormoran watched as Harry walked ahead with Annie, making her giggle easily as though they’re old pals. Ludicrous as the situation may be, he found himself hoping Harry wouldn’t suddenly get what he’s heard of as ‘baby fever’.

“She’s cute.” said Robin, who fell into step with him.

“Hm.” Cormoran replied.

He felt her gentle hand on his arm.“Listen, Cormoran, I have something to tell you.”

Robin looked around to find a quiet corner to talk. He supposed it was in poor form for him to leave his girlfriend to fend for herself with family he hardly knew, but if there’s anyone who can hold her own against any group of people, it was Harriet.

He followed her outside of the hospital lobby and by a covered pathway.

“I think there’s a pattern,” she said, her face set and serious. “I think it’s orchestrated.”

“What?” Cormoran asked, unsure of what Robin was trying to say.

“Ed Graham, and Prudence, and Al— I don’t know, maybe. But there’s Maimie Rokeby-Wright now, too—“

“What?” Cormoran was stunned at the mention of one of Rokeby’s other children, the only one he has actually never met and he supposed hated his guts on principle. Hers was the family he ruined simply by being born. She was Jonny Rokeby’s first daughter to his first wife, practically a newborn when it came out in the papers that Rokeby got one of his groupies knocked up.

“Harry’s just told me that the burglary at Haze Gallery the other day was targeted. All the pieces stolen were from Maimie Rokeby-Wright’s private collection, and they were all owned by Shirley Mullens,” said Robin. “Her mum.” she added, unnecessarily.

“Wh—“ Cormoran’s gut instinct was to dismiss it. It was ludicrous, and a leap he thought Robin too smart to make by now. “Evidence?”

Robin gaped her mouth, thinking. He waited for her response until his phone buzzed. Harry had texted, looking for them. 

“We need to get up there.” he said, walking away from Robin.

 

 

 

 

 

As Robin followed Cormoran back into the hospital, she felt foolish. She knew coming to Cormoran without anything concrete was foolish, but this news about yet another bad thing happening to one of his siblings seemed to confirm the hunch in her mind.

 _Prudence. Al. Ed. Maimie. That’s four._ _Definitely a pattern,_ Robin thought to herself, stepping into the empty elevator with Cormoran. Is it an irrational leap? Maybe. None of it look the same. They were all very different, in fact. There’s only a pattern of… _of what? Misfortune?_

She felt Cormoran’s hand close on her wrist, tugging her into a corner with him as a gurney with a team of doctors quickly filled the elevator to capacity.

“We can get out—“ Cormoran offered, realizing both of them squeezed in one corner. To leave would meanthe entire team and the gurney wheeling out again. “That’s alright. We’re just two floors up.” said one of the doctors, not looking at either of them.

Not that they would be able to see much of her. She was squeezed into the very side, Cormoran’s entire backside, pressed against her front. She wiggled a little, trying to give herself more space. She heard Cormoran grunt. She accidentally elbowed him in the back.

“Sorry.” she whispered over his shoulder. Resting her hands resignedly on them instead. From behind his head she saw his cheek muscle move. He was smiling.

She spotted a tiny mole on his nape, just below his curly hairline and was struck by how she thought she knew him well, and the many ways she didn’t. _Does Harry know he has a mole there?_ She chastised herself for even thinking it. Comparing herself in that way, remembering the last time he had been this physically close to her. It was different, of course. She wasn’t facing the expanse of his back, but his weight against her was almost familiar. He smelled of soap and clean skin and faintly of cigarettes.

The elevator jostled slightly as it stopped, causing Cormoran to press against her even more, making her slightly winded.

“You okay?” Cormoran whispered back to her.

“Fine.” she replied. A little self-conscious he could feel her breasts against his back, they were pressed up against each other so closely.

Cormoran’s shoulder gave a jolt.

“What?” Robin asked, surprised.

“Nothing. Your fingers… it tickled—it’s fine.”

Robin suddenly lifted her hands, realizing she was absent-mindedly rubbing the tips of it against Cormoran’s cashmere coat.

 _Holy shit._ Robin was mortified. She could feel her cheeks growing warm, both willing for the old elevator to go faster and end this torture, or go even slower to will her red cheeks to feel normal again.

Mercifully, the elevator opened again, and she could feel the space lightening and expanding in front of her. Cormoran took a large step forward and away and Robin walked behind him, colliding against his back as he stopped abruptly.

Following the suddenly stern expression on Cormoran’s face, Robin stared at the very handsome older man with the salt and pepper hair, sharply dressed in a suit. She was more familiar with the emaciated, youthful rockstar with hollowed eyes and greasy curls screaming into microphones. This version, this clean, put-together, grown up version was so surprising, it took Robin a moment to recognize who he was.

“Hello, son.”

It was Jonny Rokeby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the sprinkling of fluff!
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting! They really help me crank these chapters out. :)


	9. Chapter 08

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cormoran faces his father. Robin and Harry explore their hunch.

> _You’d be better off  
>  if you quit sulking about this ancient history.  
> _ Tracy Letts, _August Osage County_

 

 

 

As Jonny Rokeby stepped inside the elevator, Robin took a step back to accommodate him. Cormoran, on the other hand, seemed nailed to the floor. He hadn’t moved.

Rokeby stood next to Cormoran, who had a couple of inches on his father. Rokeby looked at Cormoran from head to foot, as though sizing up the state of him. “You look well.” he said casually.

Cormoran was inordinately well-kempt that day, wearing his nice suit and a teal button-down that fit his frame well. Robin had never said anything, but her partner has been steadily losing weight and gaining muscle, especially in the last few months. Even in this small cramped space charged with a palpable tension, Robin wondered if Cormoran started working out for Harry’s benefit.

Robin stared at the tiny mole on the back of Cormoran’s head, watched as his cheeks muscles clenched. She wildly hoped he wouldn’t suddenly punch his father.

Fortunately, it was a quick ride and before anything else could happen, the elevator doors opened and Cormoran briskly walked past the throng of people who stopped Rokeby in his wake. Robin slipped past the commotion and followed Cormoran stomping in what Robin was certain was the wrong direction.

Out of nowhere, the figure of a man stepped in front of Robin, causing her to collide with him. “Oof!”

“Robin!”

“Nick!” she said, relieved to see a friendly face there.

“What’re you— I thought that was Oggy.“ Nick looked to the opposite end of the corridor. There was a clump of people just outside a particular room. Robin supposed that’s where Ed’s room was. “You two working a case?”

“No. His brother Ed— we had to rush him in here. We’ve just ran into Jonny Rokeby in the elevator—“

“Ah.” said Nick, catching on immediately. He smiled at her. “Don’t worry, I got him.” he said, heading towards where Cormoran had gone. Cormoran disappeared through the door at the very end.

“Robbie!”

Harry had squeezed through the people blocking the door and was half-running towards her. “What kept you? Where’s Cormoran? He’s dad’s here.”

“I know. He’s bolted! Nick’s gone to get him. How’s Ed Graham?”

“He’s going to be okay, according to the doctors. His room’s a madhouse. His team is there, his dad’s team is there. Al’s a wreck.” she sighed, sitting on the nearest bench. “So, what do you think? Is it possible it’s all just a coincidence?”

For as long as Robin has known Harry—which was their entire lives—this was something they both shared; an inquisitive mind that made them terribly annoying children in the eyes of their great aunts and uncles, always ushered out to play with their rambunctious other cousins and told they shouldn’t ask questions that are far too old for their young minds to comprehend.

Harry took that curiosity to university in America, and Robin had been dragged under a dark stairwell by a man in a gorilla mask.

“I told Cormoran. That’s why we stayed downstairs.”

“What did he say?”

Robin huffed, remembering at Cormoran’s immediate dismissal of her theory. “Asked me if I had any evidence.”

Robin looked from the confluence of people by Ed Graham’s room, and then at the opposite end of the corridor where Nick and Cormoran had disappeared. “His family—Jonny Rokeby’s children, I mean—are all over the agency these days and he _hates_ it.”

“He isn’t talking to me.” said Harry, her words loaded with meaning. “Didn’t tell me about Al getting his shit kicked by Shanker—I got that from Al myself. Didn’t tell me Prudence Donleavy went by your office yesterday. He seems _very_ angry that I’m even here—“

“Don’t say that!” Robin interjected, remembering how Cormoran had reached out for Harry earlier as they were walking into the hospital. “He was already very miffed at Prudence coming to the agency and then Al needed rescuing immediately after. We’ve got cases and he’s here not getting any work done. And now Jonny Rokeby is here, and I suppose you also being here is tied up into it, too. He’s very compartmentalizing about the agency. Doesn’t like it when things disrupt the work—“

Harry gave a small laugh.

“What?” Robin asked, a knot in her stomach, as though she was afraid she accidentally gave something away.

“Nothing. I just remembered something Eric said about you,” said Harry, leaning her head against Robin’s shoulder.

“What did he say?”

“He calls you the Strike Whisperer.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Hey, bud.”

Cormoran put his phone away as he turned to see Nick. Such was the day’s commotion that it didn’t even occur to him that they ended up at the hospital Nick works at. From the look on his friend’s face, Cormoran knew Nick knew Rokeby was in the building.

“Can I smoke in here?” Cormoran asked, feeling his pockets for a cigarette. The door at the end of the corridor led them to a balcony of some sort that housed a water tank. 

“It’s a hospital.” Nick said plainly, leaning his back against the ledge next to Cormoran. “I hear one of your brothers is here. Want me to check up on him?”

“He’s already got half the hospital in his room from the looks of it. Thanks, though.” Cormoran replied, grateful for his friend’s offer.

“Shit day?”

“Yep.”

“D’you want a hug?”

Cormoran turned to Nick who already had his arms outstretched, his hands coaxing Cormoran to _get in there_. He shook his head, chuckling.

“Robin’s right outside, if you prefer her.”

Nick’s face was full of unspoken meaning, he might as well be Ilsa. Nick’s wife, who is one of Cormoran’s oldest friends, has not bothered to hide the fact she thought he was dating the wrong Ellacott, but he always thought Nick liked Harry well enough.

Cormoran gave him a look.

“Joke. I’m joking.” said Nick, and then. “When’s Harry coming back?”

“She’s already back. She’s also here.”

“Is that why you’re sulking?” asked Nick.

Cormoran could usually confide in Nick about the state of his love life, without the worry everything he said would get back to Ilsa. Of course, if he does tell his wife everything, both of them had the decency never to let him catch on. It was tempting to share confidences, to tell his good friend that Harry having been gone, and Robin having been around (he recalled the feel of her against him earlier, though trying to keep it out of mind) the past week was giving him disconcerting feelings; how his well-honed instincts are telling him that one day this will all come to a head in a burst of drama and chaos not seen since Charlotte Campbell throwing a crystal ashtray to his face.

But, it wasn’t the time, nor the place. Nick was in the middle of work (and so was he, supposedly) and on the other side of the door was Harry, and Robin, and Jonny Rokeby, and pretty much all his children, and the press, and… _“I think there’s a pattern.”_ he remembered Robin saying. _“I think it’s orchestrated.”_

 

 

 

 

 

“Let’s look at the facts,” said Harry, holding up fingers as she counted.

“Okay. Prudence is being blackmailed,” Robin started, shifting her body to face her cousin. “Al’s in trouble with a Russian gangster,“

Harry shook her head in abject disbelief.

“Maimie Rokeby-Wright has had her paintings stolen—” Robin continued.

“Her _mother’s_ paintings were stolen. She’s a prolific art collector. I know for a fact she owned other pieces at Haze by other artists and they were left untouched.” Harry added. “That’s three.”

Robin looked back at the busy end of the long corridor. “Has Al said something about whether or not Ed, you know, did it on purpose?”

“He says he doesn’t know,” said Harry. “But that he has attempted suicide before, and even went to therapy for it, but in a completely different way. Poor Al, he’s in such a state. He thought Ed was clean.”

“Yeah. He’s been having the worst week.”

“Nothing’s happened to you and Corm, right? When I was away?” Harry asked, as she turned back to the other side of the corridor to where Cormoran was still hiding, or smoking, or sulking.

Robin was taken aback. “W-what do you mean?”

“No weird letters or threats or anything like that?”

“Oh.” said Robin. “No…”

It wasn’t exactly true. There were, in fact, weird letters and threats, but that has been par for course with their agency for awhile now. It was a perennial nuisance that got them banned for life at Temporary Solutions, with temps running out of the premises receiving nail clippings and hair, and damp letters in Ziplock baggies. Their last secretary had held up the longest, a young man in his early twenties named Blake who lasted two months. Not even opening mail to find dirty knickers chased him off.

His untimely resignation and Andy Hutchins’ illness relapsing meant they had to cover clerical work themselves. Robin and Cormoran have always been orderly even with the admin, but delegating to Sam meant there was a chance he might have missed something. She tried to recall who last took charge of the mail. That she couldn’t remember the last of their odd correspondences meant it might have been Sam, or Cormoran.

In any case, Harry deemed it a satisfactory answer. “Blackmail, death threat, burglary… if Ed’s had actually been a suicide attempt, he might have had a reason. Al hadn’t said if he was depressed or anything like that. Could it be the gangster? Collecting from Al’s siblings because he hasn’t paid?”

“Maybe…” said Robin, unconvinced. Their previous run-ins with gangsters, their previous run-ins with this same gangster had been nothing like this. Even at this state, it felt too convoluted for the likes of Arzamastev. “Actually, no. It doesn’t make sense. Al’s only in the hole for a million, and the ransom they’re asking from Prudence is _five_ million.”

Cormoran and Nick finally came out of the Emergency Exit. Harry stood up suddenly and hurried up to him, holding his face in her hands. Harry has always been a tactile person, and this was not out of the ordinary for Robin to witness, but Cormoran held her open palm against his cheek a moment and that had been when Robin felt compelled to look away.

“I’ll head back to the office.” said Robin, deciding she was no longer needed. She had little interest in feeling like a third wheel, and besides, if there was some stressful confrontation between Cormoran and his estranged father, she’d rather not witness it. She knew Cormoran wouldn’t want her to witness it.

“Robin,” said Cormoran almost imploringly.

She gave him a quick smile. “We can go to Bromley tomorrow.” She walked away and turned straight into the elevator without another look back.

If Robin had been as observant as she usually was, she would have spotted her boyfriend at the hotel lobby from far off, and not as she nearly knocked a tall blonde he was speaking to.

“Robin?”

She felt his arm around her before she even saw his face. “Dev!” she said, surprised and bewildered. “How’d you know I was here?”

“Sam. He was at the office when I went by to pick you up for lunch. He told me. Where’s Harry? And Corm? Are they okay?”

“Yeah.” said Robin, feeling a rush of gratitude towards her boyfriend. Matthew had never done anything this close to thoughtful, not in relation to her work, especially not towards Cormoran.

She finally noticed the blonde she had accidentally knocked into. She looked about their age, beautiful, with long wavy golden hair that cascadeddown her torso. It reached the top of her high-waist shirt. With everything else going on, she had room to realize they were wearing the same top, but the woman’s was a deep rose that contrasted her alabaster skin. She also looked like she’d been crying.

She smiled at Robin, a little sad. “I, ah, had been crying and your boyfriend was sweet enough to ask if I was alright,” she said. “Dev, is it?”

“Yeah.” said Dev.

“Thank you, you’re very nice. I’m friends with Al and Eddie. Stella Wainwright,” she said, holding out her hand.

Robin took her hand immediately. “Oh! I work with—“

“Cormoran Strike, yes. I’m familiar with you, Miss Ellacott. I kind of have to be.” said Stella, half-shrugging. “I’m Jonny’s personal assistant.”

“Ah.”

“Well, thanks again Dev. Nice meeting you Miss Ellacott. I better head up there.”

They said their goodbyes and as they stepped out of the hospital, Dev put his arm over her shoulder, and she snaked her own arm on his backside and rested her hand on his fit waist. She felt him kiss the top of her head.

“D’you want a pint?” Dev asked.

“It’s three in the afternoon.” Robin chuckled.

“A pint of ice cream, then?”

“Sounds great.”

 

 

 

 

 

The last time Cormoran saw a hospital room as large and as lush as this, _he_ had been the patient. It had been some time after his leg had been amputated. Charlotte was back in his life and after a blissful reunion, proceeded to decided his shared room was unsatisfactory. Saying that he was a veteran, and the many people who wanted to see how he’s doing shouldn’t squeeze into such a tiny space. He had protested, of course, but Charlotte Campbell always gets her way in the end.

She waited until he fell asleep and to this day, he wasn’t sure how she managed to transfer him to a hospital suite that looked more like a luxury hotel room without his knowledge or consent. They had rowed, and then in lieu of an apology, she had done things with her mouth that no other woman has replicated since.

He felt thoroughly trapped in this large room teeming with people that otherwise wouldn’t have been allowed. The patient himself was at a corner by the window, still unconscious. Al was the only one by his bedside, watching him and periodically wiping the tears off his face.

Al’s sorry state reminded Cormoran that much as he wished he wasn’t in this tiny room with his father, his half-siblings and his shit of a lawyer, Peter Guillespe, he wouldn’t have been able to leave without saying goodbye to Al. He felt protective of him, even very fond of him now (flirting with Robin and generally infuriating him, not withstanding).

He was squeezed in an oversized ottoman, refusing to sit next to Rokeby who was alone with little Annie on his lap in the long couch. He knew Harry didn’t feel appropriate sitting with Rokeby herself if Cormoran didn’t want to, so she awkwardly fit herself in the little sliver of couch Cormoran had left over. He offered to switch places, but she refused. He would have insisted, but he rather not attract more attention to himself.

The Jonny Rokeby primarily in his mind was the dirty-looking, wrinkly, drugged-up pirate on the cover of _Rolling Stone_. He had a terrible tan, sporting long dark hair that was straight (when it was naturally curly—something he passed on only to his bastard son), turquoise-lensed sunglasses and a bandana. _A fucking bandana._ This suited man playing peek-a-boo with a toddler has to be a fluke. Was it for his benefit? Perhaps he had just been to court. There was no way Jonny effin Rokeby looks this put together.

The door opened and yet another person walked in. It was a woman with wild dark curls, wearing black pants with a black top and a black leather jacket. Her hair was braided on one side and Cormoran noticed her ear lined with earrings. It was Jonny Rokeby’s other daughter by his second wife, Daniella. Everything Cormoran knew of Daniella was information he found out by chance, either through Charlotte or Al, or some magazine or newspaper he’s read through the years. He knew Daniella had ran off as a teenager with his girlfriend and got married in Vegas at eighteen, and that she was a jeweller Harry particularly liked.

“Danny-baby!” Rokeby practically cooed, plopping his three-year-old granddaughter on the couch so he could stand up to hug her.

“Dad.” Dani replied, moodily. Cormoran saw her roll her eyes, and then her gaze landed at Cormoran. Her face was impassive. Like Maimie, Cormoran had never met her in person, but remembered a Skype call when he was at hospital where she gave a quick wave and said, “Sorry about the leg!” before Al had elbowed her. He watched as she flicked Al’s ear in retaliation. It made him laugh— the first time since he lost his leg.

When she finally extricated herself from Jonny, she headed straight for Al and Eddie.

Gabi came out of the bathroom, wordlessly plopped her toddler on the other side of her to sit next to Jonny. Cormoran didn’t know anything about children but even he knew dressing your toddler exactly like yourself is a little weird.

The busy room was full of people taking phone calls, generally ignoring the family except for when Jonny would bark for tea, or coffee, or steak. He asked Cormoran and Harry if they wanted any, and they both declined, Harry a little more naturally sweetly than he did.

“So, how long have you two been together?” Jonny asked casually, ridiculously, as though he hadn’t been a largely absentee father, as though his other son hadn’t just nearly died and was unconscious in a hospital bed feet away from him.

He can’t stand it. Can’t stand any more for it. He stood up abruptly, as if suddenly remembering that he was a grown adult who don’t have to be forced into situations he doesn’t want to endure. He felt Harry close her hand around his arm and tug. For a split second he thought Harry was going to coax him to sit back down, but she had gotten up with him. He found her hand and held it, tight.

“See ya, Al!” he called towards the other side of the room. Before Al could look back, or stop him, or call after him, they had left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nick's here! 
> 
> I didn't know how Cormoran and Jonny would interact in that sort of space so I realized they probably wouldn't, not really so Cormoran just noped out. Lol.
> 
> Thanks for the comments!!! Shoutout to under_my_blue_umbrella for saying Harry and Dev are likeable. It means a lot! <3 <3 Fun Fact: I named her after Harry Potter. :P


	10. Chapter 09

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin and Cormoran spend some time with their significant others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to point out that this fic is currently now at an 'M', and we're starting to push that rating a little now. But this time, sexily. ;)

 

> _They’re in love, or they think they are. What’s the difference, right?  
>  _ Tracy Letts, _August: Osage County_

 

 

 

Harry snuggled up next to Cormoran as they waited for the traffic to get going. They were only a few blocks away from the hospital, and Cormoran, keen on getting away from the unwanted reunion he found himself at, underestimated the rush hour traffic. He could take detours he knew, of course, but he had already offered to drop his girlfriend off at an appointment she needed to make in John Adams St.

He laid his cheek against her head and sighed. It had been a very long day.

“How was the meeting with the coder?” he asked, suddenly remembering he hadn’t had any opportunity to ask Robin if the interview had been helpful at all.

“Ask Robin about it, it’s her case.” said Harriet, yawning.

He appreciated her instinct not to overstep. It could be journalistic integrity, but it was likely loyalty towards Robin. It was one of the qualities he liked best about Harry, how great a friend she is to Robin. It was also why he hated himself even more, putting himself in the middle of them—a move that bewildered and appalled everyone of his friends, including even Shanker.

He could say that he did right by them both, that he had told Harry, as she threw her leg over his thighs, straddling him on the cramped couch of his tiny attic flat that first time, that he had gone out with Robin and that it didn’t end well.

_“Yeah,” she breathed into his mouth, rocking herself against him. “She did say,” she bit his bottom lip and pulled before devouring his mouth again. His hand running down the expanse of her back and giving her bottom a squeeze._

_“I don’t think— is that okay?” he said, pulling away to catch some air. She stilled her glorious rocking a moment, holding his face in her small hands. Cormoran tried not to think about how they had the same blue-gray eyes._

_She smiled at him. “I told her I wanted to ask you out.” she said, nipping at his nose._

_“And?” Cormoran asked, sobering up every minute that passed by. “What did she say?”_

_“A lot of things.” she smirked, and then proceeded to start kissing his neck. “But that it was only one date, and I can ask out whoever I want.”_

_She held her dress by the hem and pulled it off herself, her lace bra leaving nothing to the imagination._

_Cormoran willed himself to picture the sight he had left downstairs, of Robin contentedly leaning against Al, giggling at his lame jokes. Maybe even now she was in his red Lamborghini, on her way with him back to his swanky flat in Kensington, realizing she was better off with someone rich and young and whole._

That was all Cormoran needed to convince himself sleeping with Robin’s best mate wasn’t precisely the worst thing he could ever do to her. Telling himself during moments of guilt, that two dates (or was it only one that she counted?) must not bear much meaning to her if she allowed her cousin to ask him out. He wasn’t an ex-boyfriend, certainly not an ex-lover. He might only be a misguided rebound from the life-long relationship she had just severed. That his choice to end a would-be romantic relationship himself was merely beating her to the punch.

If it did bother Robin, she never showed it. In fact, her icy demeanour towards him that she kept up for an entire month had thawed almost immediately. Cormoran took it as a sign of her approval because he had wanted to, and his one night with Harry turned into breakfast that extended to a dinner, and then a weekend. That weekend turned into a week, that turned into a month, that turned into two months, that eventually led to dates and nights and moments with her that tore Robin completely out of his mind.

And now, five months later, Harry had met his friends as he had met hers. She had been to dinner with him at Lucy’s. He had even met her father and his soon-to-be husband and actually hoped he had made a good impression. Now, as if the universe wanted to even the score, she had met his.

Their relationship was developing at a brisk pace Cormoran usually worked hard to temper or slow down. If his allowing of such a pace a mark of him falling in love with her, or because he knew precisely what choosing her had cost him, he still refused to confront.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Al?” Harry finally said after a stretch of silence, pulling herself upright again. The car had hardly moved. There was a hint of accusation on her voice. “Or Prudence showing up at the office yesterday?”

Cormoran fought a tired sigh, not wanting to ignite a fight. He could argue that they hadn’t had much time since last night. What little time they had together, they spent in bed (an outcome he found much pleasurable than updating her about his spoiled half-siblings), and what other time she had since arriving back, she had spent with Robin.

“Prudence came to us with a case,” he said, suddenly maneuvering the steering wheel to pass them through a tiny side street. If she was in the mood to call him out on what he ought and ought not say to her as his girlfriend, he wasn’t going to give her all afternoon for it. “And there’s not much _to_ say about Al. He’s in deep shit with a Russian gangster and only a million quid will help him out of it.”

He sounded more defensive than he was intending.

“Okay! I just wanted _you_ to tell _me_.” her voice had risen a tad, she was annoyed with him. He knew he was keeping her at arm’s length, but he never understood nor accepted the female need to pry. He could hear it before she even asked, questions about how he feels about everything. He loathed it.

“Al told me he asked you to ask your father—“

“He’s going to ask Gabriella… or Daniella first. I don’t know what he’s thinking, believing I can talk Rokeby into giving me even a single—his rat, Guillespe, wouldn’t let him get into the old man’s pockets, he certainly wouldn’t let me.”

“But don’t you think you should try? If it’s Al’s life—“

“I already said I would!” he barked, tired of what he thought of was her nagging, his mind swirling with unfair comparisons, about how Robin hadn’t told him what to do, about Robin never once changing him in any way or imposing her will him. He was taking out the pent up anger and frustration he felt running into Rokeby like that, he knew it. His disgust over his father’s cavalier attitude over his irreparable relationship with the bastard he fathered was being hurled at the closest target he could aim at.

He took a breath, realizing he was out of step. “Sorry. Running into Rokeby like that,” he reached out a hand to hold hers. She let him. “I’d only met him three times my entire life. Including just then at the hospital. He started to pretend I was worth shit to him after getting press from the Lula Landry case.”

She interlaced her fingers with his. He pulled their entwined hands and kissed the back of her hand.

“He refused to accept paternity until they ran a test, my Uncle Ted told me. There was money for awhile, and then there wasn’t. He never pretended to give a shit about me growing up. He used to yell at reporters whenever they brought up the bastard son from the groupie.”

“I’m sorry.” she said, leaning against him again, face angled towards him.

“I’m 0 for 3 with you on the dad department.”

Harry laughed, and he smirked.

“My parents husbands are _not_ my dads.” she said. “And Joe’s _your_ age.” Cormoran knew she was referring to her father’s fiance. Cormoran knew as much, of course, (it had come up multiple times when he met them both) but he felt like changing the subject after sharing something personal to abate her anger towards him.

“How’s the takedown of the exploitative cruise industry going?” he asked.

“ _Tatler_ killed it.” Harry sighed. “I’m going to write a fluff piece about Majorca instead, since it was Spain’s tourism board that organized the thing. I’m hoping I can get my friend from Conde Nast to pick up the cruise piece though. He might like it better than the Haze Heist, if it’s for _Vanity Fair_.”

Cormoran wasn’t too familiar about the ins and outs of magazines, but the mention of Haze Heist brought him back to Robin’s theory that his siblings’ troubles might be deliberate. He was still unconvinced of course, there was no real evidence linking the four things, but he couldn’t be altogether indifferent over something that involved one of his half-siblings, even if it was the one he’s never met or interacted with in any way apart from a letter received nearly 30 years ago.

“Robin said the paintings were owned by Maimie?” he asked her, feeling odd calling her just by her first name. He would call her ‘Rokeby’s first child’, but he wasn’t in the mood for Harry to psycho-analyze him further.

“Yeah. And that they only took the ones her mum made. According to my friend, his source said the police have isolated it down to a fifteen minute window when gallery’s security went down suddenly for an unscheduled maintenance, so whoever did it definitely knew what to take, where to go, and how to leave.”

“Sounds like an inside job.” said Cormoran, unable switch off his detective mode for a case as tantalizing as an art heist. His company has been subsisting on a round robin of adulterers as of late. Prudence’s case, much as he detested the whole situation, had been the most interesting inrecent months.

“That’s what the Met thinks, too.” said Harry, unsure.

“You don’t think so?”

“I haven’t investigated or anything, but it’s weird.” said Harry. “They took _all_ the Mullens at Haze except for the most valuable one. They took a replica instead and left the real piece in the restoration studio. Why would they do that?”

Cormoran hadn’t the faintest idea.

 

 

 

 

 

Dev sat across from Robin at a tiny ice cream place a few blocks away from the hospital. She wanted to get back to Denmark Street, but her boyfriend had convinced her to skive off the rest of the day, pointing out that her work partner is either having a tense reunion with his father—which isn’t work—or left with Harry, and the last thing they would probably do was work.

With the thought of Cormoran and Harry off together, Robin felt equal to spend the rest of her day with Dev. Work on Prudence’s case entailed research and watching the enhanced video over and over again, both of which she can do anywhere with her phone or at home on her laptop. Cormoran’s dismissal of her larger theory (and even his general disinterest in Prudence’s) wasn’t exactly motivating.

If he needed her, he would call.

“…travelled to the other side of London just to wiggle some cables and turn on a switch.” said Dev. It was the conclusion to a story he was telling about a house call he made where the grumpy man who called in the issue only needed to check loose wiring to solve his problem. Robin only caught the tail end of it, and chuckled a bit too late. Her mind wandering between all the Rokebys and how Cormoran must be feeling.

“I’m doing it again, aren’t I?” she said, shaking her head guiltily. “Sorry. Long day.” she said, biting into her ice cream. The cool chocolate was lifting her spirits somewhat.

“You can tell me about it, you know.” Dev offered, mouth a little thick, having just bitten a chunk of his waffle cone.

“That’s alright,” said Robin, genuinely thankful for his presence and his kindness towards her. She was even thankful for his interest in her work. “Just work stuff.”

Much as she tried, it was damn near impossible not to compare Matthew to Dev, with the latter coming off a lot better than the ex-husband who had been openly hostile about the work that she loved. Of course, Robin also considered that this is merely the beginning, a honeymoon phase where everything was new and exciting and both were still keen to put their best foot forward. Their relationship has had nothing thrown at it yet, not the many tumultuous, disturbing things Matt had to put up with.

“Okay, okay. I’ll stop prying. D’you want some of my ice cream?” he held out his cone to her. As Robin bit into it, he nudged it a little, purposely getting ice cream all over her upper lip. “Dev!” Robin shrieked, surprised, then laughed.

“You got a little something on your face there.” he said in understatement. Robin shook her head, reaching for the tissues to wipe her face.

“I got it,” said Dev, poising a napkin over her lip before taking it away and kissing her instead. She let him, even deepening it some. She supposed she knew this move was coming, but enjoyed it all the same.

She heard someone clear their throat and pulled away from Dev. An elderly woman with her granddaughter were glaring at them from a nearby table.

“Sorry!” Dev called out in a friendly manner, only slightly embarrassed. Robin wasn’t very embarrassed, either. She felt exhilarated, in fact. Matthew was never one for much public displays of affection, unless they were surrounded with other men and he wanted to show her off, mark his territory. _Like a dog_ , she thought savagely.

Dev just liked her. In an uncomplicated way that isn’t marred with any sort of history. She’s never had that before, she realized, never experienced meeting someone casually before anything dramatic or traumatic had happened. She enjoyed that he was a completely new thing in her life, one that hadn’t been there all her childhood, or one that hadn’t grown to be her work partner and friend.

He came into SEIS after they posted an ad on the papers looking for a part-time web designer. She had thought he was handsome with his grey t-shirt and jeans, and short beard so few men she’s seen could pull off. He arrived with a mock website at the ready, which Cormoran was impressed by. He was always on time, with a great energy and got on well with Sam and Blake.

_“Do you want to do the honors?” Dev offered the mouse to Robin, who had been leaning over him, watching him put the final touches on the website._

_“What do you need me to do?” asked Robin._

_“Just click this button right here and your website will be online.”_

_“Really? That’s it, you’re done?” said Robin, impressed that their hire had finished a website in a week when they had hired him for two._

_“Yep. Just click the button and I’ll be out of your hair.”_

_Robin smiled at Dev, amused. She saw Blake roll his eyes from the farty couch, organizing receipts accumulated that week._

_Robin clicked the button, the page refreshed and nothing._

_“Did I do it wrong?”_

_“Nope. That’s it. It’s live. People can find you online now.”_

_“It’s a bit anticlimactic.” Robin joked._

_“I agree. Someone should invent a way for there to be fireworks or applause whenever a site gets published or something.” said Dev. “Maybe that can be my next project.”_

_Dev started putting his things in his messenger bag, preparing to leave. Robin contemplated on stopping him, but realized there wouldn’t be anything for him to do._

_She decided to walk him out._

_As they stepped out into the sidewalk, Dev turned to her._

_“Do you want to grab coffee with me?”_

_“It was nice meeting you—“_

_They had said it at the same time. She had said goodbye, and he had asked her out._

_“Okay.” said Robin, and they walked together towards the cafe down the street._

That first coffee had been a month ago, and since then, things had only gotten better. She felt lighthearted and excited, and often giddy when she remembered his last kiss, or how he held her hand. She realized that it had been a very long time since she was, as her mother would put it, _wooed_. And she enjoyed it.

Of course, there were still things about her—very crucial things—that Dev still didn’t know. She had only given him the basics: that she had been with Matthew since sixth form, that she had dropped out of uni, even that she went out with Cormoran once, but never yet felt up to expounding. He had been interested to know more, of course, but never pushing her to share details she wasn’t ready to.

Much as she liked Dev, might even think she could be falling for him, she knew she needed time. They haven’t even slept together yet, and he had always been respectful on that front (a fact that Harry insisted is very rare). Robin didn’t exactly know what it is she’s waiting for. It’s not that she was nervous about it, or even that she didn’t want to, but Dev himself has never really insisted, come to think of it. Always letting her set the pace, always waiting for her signal before going any further.

Memories of that night with Cormoran crept up in her mind again. _How he had pinned her, as they walked through the door, unable to wait any more or any longer. Pressing himself up against her, running his large hands all over her body, lifting her leg to hook up his waist, grinding into her, panting against her mouth._

_“I have wanted this for so long.” he breathed, trailing kisses down her neck as she felt him hike her dress up further. “You smell incredible.”_

_She moaned, running her fingers into his short, curly hair, tugging as he felt his hand up her smooth thigh. There was nothing but their breaths and the pitter patter of tiny paws running down the stairs…_

“What—?” said Robin, yanked from thoughts that were making her ears go red. She was sure Dev had said something.

He smiled at her. “I said, d’you want to get out of here?”

“Yeah—yes. I, uh, yeah. Let’s go.” she said, standing abruptly, hoping she didn’t look as flustered as she felt.

Dev embraced her as he held up his other hand to hail a cab.

“Where do you want to go?” he asked, holding the door open for her.

She gave him a peck on the lips and stepped inside the cab. “Let’s go back to mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you guys think about this one? Cormoran's a little dicey but he isn't perfect, which is why we love him, right?
> 
> I know, I know, more time with the OCs and less with each other, but they're important to the plot and I wanted the story to spend some time with them. Plus, it's very interesting to explore their new relationships while also still clearly hung up on each other. :P
> 
> I love how Robin got herself worked up at the end there. Lmao.


	11. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin explores her theories. Cormoran is rattled by the run-in with Jonny Rokeby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The mystery's afoot!

> _You may not agree with my methods,  
> _ _but you know I’m right.  
> _ Tracy Letts, _August Osage County_

 

 

 

Upon arriving at the office that morning, Robin headed straight for The Drawer of Unusual Correspondences, or so she would always call it in her head, after Cormoran had called it the Nutter Drawer in front of their employees and it stuck.

The last few ones—benign for these sort of things—were from over a week ago, the same ones she had put away herself. She knew there had been at least one other in the last week when Sam was assigned to do desk duty, including a rather explicit love letter addressed to Cormoran that Sam had read out loud and howled over, laughing. It had even been sealed with a kiss.

She called Sam, hoping he was already on the way in, and not tending to his family. It was five past eight.

As he waited, Robin looked around, rummaging through filing cabinets and random stacks of paper. She was missing their previous secretary who had been so organised, so neat and tidy and driven that he took it upon himself to repaint the outer office one weekend, and even set up a sweets bowl for clients to enjoy (but only Cormoran would ever finish).

Sam was excellent on the field, but not so much on the paperwork. They had been without a secretary for a week, and Robin dreaded the arduous process of looking for Blake’s replacement. They would need to strike out on their own with the staffing, since temping agencies have flagged them for ‘creating a hostile work environment’ (which she thought was a gross exaggeration).

Maybe there wasn’t any unusual correspondences, maybe there was only that one letter last week and Sam simply misplaced it somewhere. There was no pattern of attacks, it was all just unconnected incidences that happened to happen at the same time to members of the same family. As incredible as it was to accept given that it’s currently 4 out of 7 Rokeby children, Cormoran might be right. There might be nothing there at all.

Instead, she booted up her computer and pulled up the video the coder, Five, had so incredibly enhanced. Keeping it on mute, she watched it over and over, looking closely to see if there was something— _anything_ worth noting down. From the bit of skin exposed from the mask’s eyeholes, Robin could tell whoever was under it wasn’t dark-skinned. If they were white, or any other ethnicity, if they were even mixed race, it was impossible to tell.

Tired from replaying the horrid video, and feeling a sense of nagging uncertainty over needing to know if there were new nutter letters, she called Sam again.

“Hey Rob, whasup?”

“Hi Sam, am I catching you at a bad time?”

“Nah, just about to take the tube. How’s Strike’s bruv?”

“He’s going to be alright, I think. Any updates on Bad Architect?”

“Yep. He met with that bastard supplier the client pointed out. I think they’re just fucking, Rob. They were feeling each other up under the table the whole time yesterday—oy! I’m walkin’ ‘here!” he had yelled away from the receiver.

That was a new development, if true. If Bad Architect was meeting a lover, maybe there weren’t shady construction deals going on—but Robin refused to be side-tracked. She felt as though this thing with the Rokebys was an extension of Prudence’s case. She wanted to see it through.

“Sam, where’d you put that letter that had a kiss mark on it?”

She heard Sam smirk. “With the rest of the nutter letters this week.”

“So there had been others this week? Do you remember where you put them?”

“Yeah, in the nutter dra—sorry, _The Drawer of Unusual Correspondences_.”

Robin chuckled despite herself, digging through the drawer and not finding anything new. “Not in here. The last ones I see are still from the week before. I don’t see the letter in here, nor anything dated in the last week.”

Robin felt a box at the end of the drawer, pulled it out and opened. There was a stack of unfamiliar letters bundled up, placed over receipts that should’ve been sent to their accountant last week. She sighed into the receiver. “Got ‘em.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Sam.” said Robin, and hung up.

As she took off the rubber band bundling the letters together, she made a mental note of prioritising looking for a new secretary, or perhaps beg Blake to come back to work. So what if he developed a crush on Cormoran (the thought made her smile to herself) _he can get in line_.

She shook her head, refocusing on the letters.

The office door opened and Cormoran stepped in. “You’re early.”

“Thought we ought to get a head’s start, with yesterday—“

“Going to the shitter?” Cormoran offered, already looking grim that morning. He was holding a ribboned tin box rather awkwardly.

Robin laughed. “I was going to say, ‘being so busy’. Got info from the coder and Sam’s got news about Bad Architect. It wasn’t a total loss.”

“Got nothing at Mayfair, though. Anyway—” Cormoran said sullenly, walking up to Robin’s desk and held out the tin box to hand to her. “I was going to leave it on your desk, but you’re already here.”

“What’s this?” Robin asked, holding out her hand to take it. It was a box of salted caramel chocolates, and a Post It with Cormoran’s scrawl on it saying ‘Thanks for yesterday. C x’ “You shouldn’t have.” she said, smiling up at him. He wasn’t really looking at her.

“Saw it by the till at the shops last night and remembered they’re your favorite.” he shrugged almost matter-of-fact as though he was talking about the weather.

Robin felt a warmth inside of her, a tingly sort of feeling that is making it physically impossible for her to stop grinning. She twisted her chair almost abruptly, pretending to dig into one of the drawers until she could reel in her stupid smile.

 _What are you doing?!_ she chastised herself in a panic. _Hadn’t you just spent yesterday with Dev? Weren’t you just happy about_ that? _He’s Cormoran! He’s your good friend, and your best friend’s boyfriend! He changed his mind—_

That had done it. From surprising, uncontrollable affection to a resurgence of dormant ache and anger she knew still existed somewhere inside of her. She was able to compose herself almost immediately.

“What are you looking for?” she heard Cormoran ask.

Unthinking, she grabbed their nutter letters bound in rubber and plopped it on the table.

“Why are you looking at the nut— _weirdo_ letters?” Cormoran now had a suspicious look on his face, grabbing the newest bundle—the one Sam looked through—and half-heartedly flipped through them.

“Just wanted to look through them, is all.” Robin tried to sound as casual as she could. She didn’t want to let on just yet the lines of investigation she was pursuing. “How’s Ed?” she asked, partly to distract him, partly because she was curious.

“Stable.” Cormoran replied, plopping onto their farty couch that emitted a very long, very loud sound. Despite his early morning gloom, Robin watched Cormoran suppress a chuckle. “You heard from Barclay?”

“Yeah, says he thinks he’s just having an affair.” replied Robin, releasing the bound letters from the rubber band.

“That makes sense.” Cormoran agreed. “Also heard back from that chemist who said there was nothing off about the cement mixtures. I’m starting to think Davies just used it as a cover so we’d tail his construction partner for him to see if he’s meeting with a lover. My guess is that _they’re_ having an affair themselves and he just didn’t want a paper trail that he hired detectives to see if his lover was cheating on him with other men.”

“Isn’t he married? To a woman?”

“His high school sweetheart. Worth nearly a hundred million dollars, no prenup. The missus is entitled to half his empire, he wouldn’t risk the scandal of being outed.”

“Shame.” said Robin absent-mindedly, flipping between the letters. “I thought we finally got a case that isn’t about helping rich people keep their money, or adulterous husbands.”

“In any case, Barclay did some great work.” said Cormoran, taking his phone out of his pocket.

The trouble with these particular letters, is that they’re mostly incoherent. Robin unfolded one where the letter writer had addressed a ‘Cormaroon’ asking for help finding a lost puppy. It looked like a child had written it using a green crayon.

From the corner of her eye she saw Cormoran put down his phone.

Deciding he wasn’t about to call or text anyone, Robin took her chance. “How’s meeting your father?”

“Awful, thanks for asking.” he said immediately, not looking at her. There was a beat of silence. “Pretended he didn’t spend most of my life as though I didn’t exist.”

“I’m sorry."

“So,” said Cormoran suddenly as he sprung up from the couch. “What’s the plan for today?”

Robin could sense Cormoran was trying to distract her from asking further about his father, but he looked keen on helping her work on Prudence’s case, and she enjoyed that he asked _her_ what _he_ should do, and had given her chocolates…

“Well,” Robin started, trying to contain her excitement. She had made great progress the night before, after sending Dev off after dinner and Harry not coming home. She made calls and secured meetings with not one but _two_ out of their three primary persons of interest.

“There’s the meeting with Mark Leonowens later this afternoon at Glendale.”

Cormoran looked surprised. “We’re meeting him at his school?”

“Uh, yeah.” said Robin, uneasy. “I introduced myself yesterday, you know, as a detective and he didn’t sound like he believed me. I think he thought I was a reporter or something. I guess he’d have all sorts calling him, trying to get the dirt on Prudence—“

“Right.” Cormoran grunted.

“So, I called him again using my mobile and told him I was a parent hoping to transfer my kid to his school.”

She could see the corners of Cormoran’s mouth twitch. Robin ignored him and proceeded, “We only need to get in the door and then—“

“Ambush him about blackmailing his ex-girlfriend for five million quid?”

“No,” said Robin, refusing to be cowered by his testy attitude. “If he saw you, he’ll know I wasn’t lying about being a detective and maybe he’ll cooperate.”

“Why would he cooperate when he sees me?”

“ _Because_ you’re… _you._ ”

Cormoran looked genuinely confused. Robin couldn’t help it and rolled her eyes. “You’re _Cormoran Strike_ , famous detective, also his ex-girlfriend’s half-brother—“

Cormoran waved her barrage of his fame away. Robin knew Cormoran detested being defined in those sort of terms, but it was also helpful in this particular instance.

“And he’ll just spill the beans, will he?” He sounded legitimately agitated now. Robin huffed, also feeling a little short at his tempestuousness this week. Doesn’t he realize she has a plan? A good one? Couldn’t he just trust her? It’s _her_ case.

“I just need you to trust me,” she said plainly, looking at Cormoran squarely in the face. He looked at her and his face softened immediately. Robin felt a flutter in her stomach.

“Okay.” he nodded seriously.

Robin exhaled, trying to temper her relief. “Then after that, I interview Rodrigo Marco.”

“You got an interview?” said Cormoran. Robin enjoyed how he couldn’t keep himself from looking impressed.

“I got an invite for a private party he’s throwing tonight.”

“Oh, another ambush?” Cormoran asked, incredulous.

“No,” Robin retorted quickly. “It’s at his place. I figured I can look around, see if there’s anything there that points to him having something to do with the blackmail video.”

“ _You_? You’re not doing an op alone—“

“Prudence will be there, too. That’s how I got invited. You’re free to come if you want, but it’s a pool party—“

“A pool party!” Cormoran exclaimed, as though it was the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.

“Look, I can handle it—“

“No! I’ll go.”

Robin looked surprised and vaguely imagined Cormoran in swimming trunks, with his naked torso a forest of wild chest hair. She wasn’t expecting him at all to accompany him. She thought he would simply flatly refuse and she’ll have to convince him by suggesting other people joining her.

“If you’re going to poke around places you shouldn’t be, you’ll need backup.” he said.

She was half-tempted to tell him he’ll need a banana hammock but desisted, remembering a detail she meant to tell him. “It’s at Kentigern Gardens.”

“What?”

“Yeah. At Lula Landry’s old flat.”

Cormoran’s expression was thoughtful. She found it odd that anyone would willingly buy a place where a young woman had died, but people are unpredictable like that. She was just about to start looking through the week’s nutter letters again when Cormoran spoke. “What happened to the hacker meeting yesterday?”

“Oh! I nearly forgot!” said Robin. She faced her computer again and pulled up the enhanced video as she told Cormoran about Bermuda. She assumed Harry had already told him, but from how he was reacting, she hadn’t told him a thing. Perhaps too busy telling Harry all the personal, family things he wouldn’t tell Robin, or perhaps they were too preoccupied with _other activities_.

Cormoran didn’t bother with taking his office chair to sit next to Robin as they looked at the enhanced video, leaning next to her, he could hear him breathe by her ear.

“Would you say this patch of skin is Caucasian?” Robin asked, pointing at a part of the screen with her finger. From the corner of her eye, she saw Cormoran squint.

She had zoomed so closely, the only thing distinguishable was an eyeball. “What skin?” asked Cormoran. “What am I looking at?

“The skin around the eyes. That’s the clown from Prudence’s blackmail video. Five enhanced it for me.”

Cormoran turned to look at her and so did she, their faces uncomfortably close together, she reckoned she could see the light dusting of freckles on his cheek. “Five?” he asked, and Robin smelled the hint of minty toothpaste in his breath.

“Her legal name.” Robin replied, before turning back to the computer. “Do you think it’s Caucasian?”

“Impossible to tell,” he said, voice matter-of-fact. “He’s wearing colored contact lenses, though.”

Robin zoomed in on the photo even more. “Damn. I missed that.” she said. “What else do you notice?”

“Off the one giant eyeball? Nothing.”

Just then, the phone rang and both of them reached out to answer it, with Cormoran’s hand getting there first and Robin resting hers over his for a moment before yanking it back abruptly as though scalded.

“Yep?” said Cormoran, as though he knew who’d be on the other line.

“Oh. Yeah, she’s here. Hold on.” Cormoran tore the receiver away from his ear and held it by the mouthpiece, extending it to Robin.

“It’s Harry.”

Robin gave Cormoran a puzzled expression, he only shrugged. Robin took the phone and watched as Cormoran walked into the smaller office.

“Hiya!” said Robin cheerfully.

“Busy this morning?” said Harry from the other line.

“Um, not so much. What’s up?”

“How would you like to be a photographer for a couple of hours?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m on my way to Haze Gallery to look around, talk to a few people. You know, for the article I’m writing? My contact said Maimie Rokeby-Wright is going to be there, and if come with me, we can pass you off as my photographer and you can have a look around.”

Robin could hear the excitement in Harry’s voice, and knew she was sucked in by the prospect of a large inter-connected mystery that’s just begging to be uncovered. Robin wondered why her cousin didn’t sound too concerned about how her boyfriend would feel if he found out she was poking around the Rokebys. Or even, the possibility that if it’s all orchestrated, that Cormoran would be up next.

“Have you told Cormoran about this?” Robin whispered, twisting herself, her back to Cormoran’s still-open door.

Harry chuckled humorlessly into the phone. “Bit my head off this morning for a lot less. I think running into Jonny Rokeby messed him up a bit more than he’s letting on— but I’ve thought about it, Robbie. Either there’s nothing connecting the heist with Prudence and Al’s problems, in which case I’m probably free to write about it anyway, or there _is_ something and it will tie into your current case. I say we check it out first and figure out what to do next.”

Robin turned again to look at Cormoran, making notes on his desk, and then the tin of chocolates on her desk from him ( _Does Harry know he gave her chocolates? Would she care?_ ). The right thing to do, was _not_ to go behind Cormoran’s back, but her gut was pulling her in a different direction. She had already decided to follow this line of investigation, deciding to comb through the nutter letters to check if something similar is also coming for Cormoran. But would it be crossing a line to pursue it in a more active way, behind his back and accompanied by Harry, no less. Will it be duplicity, if she met Maimie Rokeby-Wright? Hadn’t she just asked him to trust her? And why the hell doesn’t Harry seem to have this same dilemma?

“Robbie?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“What do you say?”

Before Robin could stop herself and overthink some more, she heard her own voice say, “What time should I meet you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Robin-only POV chapter! And its (mostly) about the mystery!
> 
> Any guesses where the large mystery is headed? (bec I dont know myself JK!)
> 
> Thanks for reading!!! x (and if you're on tumblr, I'm cb-strike :P)


	12. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cormoran helps Al, and has to face off with his father.

_“And whatever faults he may have had,  
_ _he was a good, kind, decent person.”  
_ Tracy Letts, _August Osage County_

 

 

 

When Cormoran left the office that morning, he told both Robin and Barclay that he was going to take another shot at the adulterer in Mayfair. He had been genuine on that front, but what he hasn’t told either of them was that he had been given the address of an insalubrious massage parlour his mark liked to frequent. The drive to Mayfair and following him from his coffee run and photographing him being amorously welcomed by a madam took Cormoran all of an hour.

Now he was on another errand, and one he found much less preferable than following dirty old bastards into brothels.

He was already inside the elevator before it occurred to Cormoran he should have brought something, but he supposed someone like Ed Graham is now probably drowning in flowers and gift baskets from concerned admirers.

His brother being rushed into hospital yesterday was last night’s biggest news story, toppling updates on Syria and Iraq, and even developments on the much talked-about Haze Heist, it’s only mention being a glib remark from a newsreader quipping, “Not a great week for the Rokebys.”

The beautiful blonde from yesterday answered the door to his timid knock, as though she had been standing guard behind it this whole time. Cormoran remembered that her name was Stella, and that she was Rokeby’s PA, and a close friend of his father’s children, judging from how she had cried and hugged Al.

She was looking better today, her hair in a tight bun and holding herself with more professionalism as she greeted him.

The room was adorned with gift baskets, flowers, and balloons as he suspected, but thankfully not cramped with people. Other than him and Stella, there was only Al.

His brother looked ghastly. His bruises were darker today than yesterday, though the swelling on one of his eyes had gone down.

“Corm!” his half-brother exclaimed, giving him a tight hug as though he was welcoming him back from a war. Cormoran gave him an awkward pat on the back and waited for him to let go.

“How’s Ed?” he asked, because it was the polite thing to ask. The hospital bed was empty.

“They wheeled him off for a session with the psychiatrist. He’s doing a lot better today,” said Al, looking somewhat cheered by the fact. He remembered having to watch over his nephew Jack in the ICU after his appendix burst, and wondered if he looked as tragic (his thoughts veering quickly to Robin’s kindness, sitting with him through the worst of it).

“Mum’s arrived from the States, off to fetch dad.” said Al. “Told her you saved Eddie’s life. She wants to see you.”

 _Fucking hell. I have to face both of them now?_ Cormoran inwardly groaned. Only certain pain, destruction, and death would convince Cormoran to breathe the same air as Mr. and Mrs. Jonny Rokeby. He might bear it better if Al understood the graveness of crossing a Russian gangster, but seeing as he was already in pieces over being roughed up, and thoroughly diminished over what Eddie had done to himself, Cormoran decided it best to hold his tongue.

His father is a prize cunt, there was no other way to describe him. His wife, Jenny Graham, on the other hand… Cormoran could only describe her as ‘not unkind’, or more generously, ‘decent’. His most vivid memory of her was twenty years ago in his Uncle Ted’s kitchen, looking jarringly put-together amid the chaos of a funeral and people who couldn’t afford to mourn in Armani. He watched as she wordlessly helped a grief-stricken Lucy pile dishes into an overflowing sink, and hugged her as his sister’s grief overwhelmed her. He initially thought she dared show her face for photo opportunities, give the public a front that all’s well with Rokeby, his deceased infamous groupie, and the bastard he fathered. But, she had been kind to Lucy, and of the numerous stories about his mother’s death, Jenny Graham’s visit was nowhere within them.

In the intervening years, his father’s wife would sometimes get in touch, showing genuine—if sporadic—concern for Leda’s surviving family. He often wondered if Leda knew Jenny Graham in life, but if she had, she never said so, and was not the sort of connection his mother would keep secret from her children.

Perhaps Al took after his mother in the easy care and concern he has for everyone in Jonny Rokeby’s colorful family. He certainly didn’t get it from the old man, who would have a slab of wagyu steak with a side of onerous small talk as his youngest son lay dying feet away.

“You talked to your sisters?” asked Cormoran, sitting on the couch with a grunt.

“Gabi says her shit husband won’t allow it, and Dani— I think she has her own problems.” said Al.

“Problems?” Cormoran asked curiously, Robin and Harry’s theory playing around in his mind.

Al shrugged. “Never tells me anything. I’m all out of options, bruv. Unless you’ve got a million quid lying around you can lend me.”

Cormoran chuckled humorlessly at the joke, thinking how different his life would look with a million quid. He’d buy out the entire building at Denmark Street, for one. Kick out pervy ol’ Crowdy, give Robin her own office, hire full-time staff, build a little shed in his Uncle Ted and Aunt Joan’s backyard—the flippant way his father’s children acquire and lose money is deeply repugnant to him.

“I still don’t understand how I could help you, if you’re going to ask _him_ for it.” said Cormoran, eyes instinctively darting to Stella, who bent down to place a cup of tea in front of him.

“Are you kidding me?” said Al, genuinely incredulous. “You’re probably his favorite at this point. His only child who hasn’t asked him for anything—well, you’re even better seeing as you actually _returned_ what you asked. He often says how impressive you are. You don’t use _it_ , you didn’t need _it_. You got where you are all on your own.”

Cormoran knew that by ‘it’, Al meant ‘Rokeby’. While he’s very fond of Al, he could be a little thick especially when it came to his father and ‘the family’. He often spoke like this, as though Cormoran always had the choice of being one of Jonny Rokeby’s offspring and enjoying all the posh kid perks it entailed. Al spoke as though his father and his older brother had a personal relationship he just wasn’t privy to, aside from near total indifference on Cormoran’s part, and lip service on Rokeby’s.

“Just ask him for it and I’ll pay it back with interest in a year, tops.”

Cormoran stared at his brother, incredulous and livid. “The fuck I will!” Not the prospect of Al’s death, or even his own would make him beg Rokeby for that much money. He was under the impression he was only there for moral support, to maybe impress upon the fact that Al finally got himself into a very serious shit hole and that a million quid is exactly the price that needs to be paid to bail him out. But not to ask Rokeby himself!

Al looked genuinely confused.

“If you make habit of asking _him_ for money—“

Cormoran was cut off. Rokeby arrived. He was wearing a pair of light linen trousers and a light blue button down neatly tucked. Even though they were indoors, he was still wearing his sunglasses.

“Twice in two days!” said Rokeby upon sight of him, his arms outstretched as though a grand uncle welcoming Cormoran to his vast estate. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Cormoran stared at his ridiculous father, not moving a muscle, livid deep inside. Was he expecting a hug? He felt his insides clench. He longed to punch him in his smug face. He was admittedly surprised by the surge of anger within him, something he could only compare with the hate he only reserved for Jeff Whittaker.

Rokeby shrugged and pat Al on the back instead.

“Hey, dad.” said Al. “Where’s mum?”

“We ran into doctor, er, the bald one—“

“Herbert?” Al suggested. “The gastroenterologist?”

“That one. Told us where Ed was and your mother went straight for it. You know how she is. So Cormoran, neither of your beautiful lady friends accompanying you today?”

 _So what if Al dies? He’s got other brothers._ “Just me.” he said curtly.

“Er, Corm was just telling me he wanted to ask you something.” said Al, cutting to the chase, looking from Cormoran and his father, gauging their reaction. Cormoran personally wanted to start throwing punches, Rokeby, on the other hand, looked expectant.

“Oh?” Rokeby asked, interested. “It’s not money, I hope!” he said, and then chuckled at his own joke. Al laughed feebly.

Cormoran saw Al throw him a pleading look.

If he must do it, then he will.

“Al here got in the way of a very dangerous Russian gangster. Owes him a million quid. If he doesn’t pay up, he’ll find everything he owns and everyone he loves burned to the ground. He’s got two weeks.”

“Wh—“

He heard Al’s protest, but he was already on his way out the door.

“Cormoran,” It was Rokeby who called him. Despite himself, Cormoran stilled.

“Al? Are you really in trouble?”

Cormoran turned slowly, eyes falling on his father’s face. He looked almost completely different from the smug son of a bitch a second ago. Rokeby looked stricken and alarmed, looking from Al and Cormoran. “Is it true?”

Cormoran nodded.

“If we pay, he’ll leave Al alone?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure? Absolutely sure?”

“Yes.”

“This gangster— you’re familiar with him? You know him? You’re certain?”

Cormoran knew this expression, though he has never pictured it on Jonny Rokeby’s face. The mingling of fright and air of composure in fathers who need to be strong for a grieving, more frightened wife or child. He was reminded of the many times he had to break or pre-empt terrible news to families of soldiers dead or dying from the war.

He didn’t envy Al this Jonny Rokeby that he never had. His mother loved him enough to eclipse how he had been ignored in his childhood. He was just surprised, if he was being honest. He supposed there was always a version of Jonny Rokeby that was like this, that was father first before rockstar or arsehole. He heard it in Al’s stories, but never witnessed it himself.

“Yes. I’ve encountered him in the past. He just wants what’s owed him and then he’ll leave Al alone.”

Jonny nodded. “Okay.” He put his hands on Al’s shoulder and squeezed. “I’ve got it, bud. I’ll call Peter straightaway. He’ll need a few days head start if it needs to be cash.”

“Wire transfer.” said Al, showing his dad something on his phone.

“Alright. I can do it now—Stella?”

Stella, who had been standing like a statue by the wall suddenly stepped forward. She had been so inconspicuous, Cormoran forgot she was even there. He wondered if she was used to pretending to be a wall ornament, animating herself only when needed.

“How do I do that again?”

Cormoran watched the scene unfold. Stella working on Jonny Rokeby’s phone, periodically returning it to the owner where he made a few taps, returning it back to Stella, then her looking at Al’s phone and copying the bank number, giving it back to Rokeby who makes a few taps, and then… “There.” she said pleasantly, as though they hadn’t done anything more noteworthy than pay the bills.

“That’s done?” Rokeby asked, holding his phone at a distance and squinting at it, as though he’d glean an answer from the screen.

“Yep. You’ve sent the money to that bank account.”

And then the three of them turned their heads to Cormoran at the same time. He’d have laughed if he wasn’t bewildered.

“How do I know if he’s called it off?” Al asked.

Cormoran could call Shanker who can make sure, but he wasn’t about to divulge that to the room at large so he just shrugged. “You’ll know in two weeks. But I wouldn’t worry,” said Cormoran. “I’ve never known him to carry out a hit after a demand’s been met.” Cormoran was being truthful, but the only true thing was the fact that Arzamastev was a gangster. But Cormoran’s knowledge of him was that he frequently hustles rich spoiled fucks out of their inheritance for sport. He has bigger problems like rival gangs and buying elections. Alexander Rokeby’s measly million-pound debt is likely a blip in his radar.

“Alright!” Rokeby huffed. “What does everyone want for lunch? Cormoran, are you staying?”

It was like a flip had been switched in Jonny, his mood changed so fast. What kind of man was he—what kind of wealth does he have that it did not matter in the slightest that he just spent a million. And he knew exactly what to do, as though he had done it before. Known he would need days to put together that much money in cash.

And another thing was curious, too. Arzamastev, he knew, notoriously preferred cash. He was old school like that. But the fact that it had been Shanker who was hired as a heavy, it could only be Arza. Something doesn’t add up.

“Lobster?” said Rokeby. Cormoran was under the impression it was the tail end of a sentence.

“I’m not staying.” Cormoran announced gruffly. “Al. Stella.” he said in goodbye and turned to leave the room.

“I’ll walk you down.” Al called after him.

“Thanks for helping me out, bruv.” said Al, patting Cormoran on the back.

“I don’t know why you needed me. He would’ve bailed you out either way.”

“Oh yeah, like he’d believe me if I told him, _daddy I need a million quid a Russian gangster’s after me_. He would’ve called my bluff. He only believed it because it came from you. Mind, I didn’t think you’d tell him the truth. He’s definitely gonna have me committed—”

Cormoran gave his brother a quick look. He had just admitted a problem, but was already moving past it. Cormoran inwardly admitted a rehab stint would probably do Al some good after this little run-in.

“Roke— _he_ knew how to put together a ransom payment.” said Cormoran. It hadn’t been a question.

“What?” Al said, distracted. “Oh, yeah.”

Cormoran raised an eyebrow.

Al shrugged. “He’s a rich guy who partied too hard.” he said as though it was a proper answer.

“The bank account number, how did you get it?”

“One of Arza’s goons wrote it on my chest!” said Al, scowling. “Nearly had to scrub myself raw—“

“Which goon?”

Al shrugged. “I dunno. One of them. There were like six of them there.”

“Was it the guy punching you?”

“I don’t know. That maniac had punched me on the face, I couldn’t see shit! It might be some other dude seeing as he had kept punching me while some other arsehole was writing on me. What does it matter how I got it?”

“Nothing.” said Cormoran, now lost in thought. “Your father’s assistant, Stella—“

“Lesbian.”

“Is she?” Cormoran asked, intrigued despite himself.

“Believe me, I’ve tried.” said Al, smiling conspiratorially, and then seriously, “I thought things were going great with you and Harry.”

Cormoran rolled his eyes. “Does she always help Roke— _him_ with stuff like that? Like dealing with his bank accounts?”

“Oh yeah. Dad’s shit with technology. Damn miracle he figured out how to use an iPhone.”

“Does she also know passwords? Pin codes?”

Al shrugged, unconcerned. “I dunno any of that stuff. Mum would, or The Butler.” said Al, scowling. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if she does. Mum and dad love her. Been with us for ages. Started as an intern in mum’s production office before dad picked her special to be his PA four or so years ago. She’s like family. Like a sister, really.”

“Sister, huh? You _just_ said—“

Al laughed. “I haven’t succeeded, so yes. Sister. She’s Annie’s godmother, actually.”

Cormoran remembered that the beautiful blonde, who was like family, had fetched everyone tea and stood like fixture before she had been needed.

“Darling!”

A woman in a tight beige dress and long dark curls had hugged Al while they were trying to exit the lift.

“Mum!” said Al, surprised. The woman’s pert behind was inline with the doors, and they were closing in. Cormoran used his bulk to keep it open.

The woman pulled away and then noticed Cormoran. “Corm!” she exclaimed, pulling him in for a hug, causing him to lift his back from blocking the lift doors. Cormoran pulled away, throwing his weight onto the doors again. Even in her forties, Jenny Graham is a strikingly beautiful woman and always reminded Cormoran of beauty queens showing their age, or Elizabeth Hurley.

“Al told us what you did. I’m so thankful you were there. You’re such an excellent big brother to my boys. Where are you two off to?”

“Just walking Cormoran out.” said Al.

“You’re not staying? Jonny said you were staying for lunch.”

“He’s got work, mum.”

“Oh yes! How’s the agency going? We read everything—“

More people had walked into the lift, making Jenny Graham walk further in with them. Al, who had been leaning against the other side of the door, stepped on the other side with Cormoran. Jenny, who was at the very back, was glaring at the two, looking angry.

They were on the parking lot now, heading towards his BMW.

“Thanks again, Corm.” said Al, giving Cormoran a tight hug. He wanted to tell his brother to get help, wanted to hope for his sake that Eddie recovers completely, wanted to say that he was glad he was going to be alright and that if he needed anything at all, he could always come to Denmark Street.

Instead, he hugged him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter really stalled me because I decided long ago I was going to write a fic about the Rokeby Diaspora but then there's scant data from the books so basically these are all practically OCs, characterization-wise which is madness lol.
> 
> Thank you to those who are STILL reading, I'm worried the slow burn is a little too slow lol. I mean, Robin isn't even in this chapter.
> 
> At least the plot / mystery / family drama is trudging along! Strellacott shenanigans coming, I swear!


	13. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Against her better judgment, Robin pursues a line of investigation behind Cormoran's back-- to unexpected consequences.

> _BILL: Are you ready for this?  
>  BARBARA: No. No way.  
> _ Tracy Letts, _August Osage County_

 

 

 

Robin felt nervous about meeting Harry behind Cormoran’s back, but Sam pretty much wrapped up the Bad Architect case, and had the time to take over desk duty from Robin. Cormoran, meanwhile, decided to take another shot at the adulterer in Mayfair. She was free to work on her own case, and with the meeting at Bromley and a party that night, the only line she could think of pursuing now, was this one.

On the way to Haze Gallery, Robin realized that she was going into this investigation without even a smidgen of a plan. They had no cover stories, other than she was supposed to pretend to be a photographer. Should she have gone incognito? Would she need to change her name? What if Maimie Rokeby recognizes her? Not that Robin thought she was a household name or face, but she’s had her fair share of news stories and anyone who may keep tabs on Cormoran Strike would surely recognize her as his work partner.

She had been trained to be better than this, and she felt herself torn in multiple ways. She was loyal to Cormoran, sure, but was also loyal to Harry, and her innate curiosity and rising worry about the possibility that Cormoran might also be a target tipped the scales in Harry’s favor. Still, as she crossed the street towards the gallery, she couldn’t help but feel that right now, she wasn’t much of a detective. She was no better than the little girl off on silly adventures with her misbehaving young cousin, doing precisely what their elders said not to do.

“Robin?” called a high-pitched voice that made Robin stall in the middle of the street and turn.

Of all the people she could run into, it had to be Sarah _effin_ Shadlock running up to her, wobbling in high stiletto heels.

And then a honk, a harsh grab at her scarred arm, a violent pull, an angry yell from a large man in a motorbike, and Robin was back on the sidewalk.

Instead of relief, she felt a tightness all over her as though she was being compressed in all directions, being engulfed by a looming figure with a knife, in a gorilla mask, shifting into a terrifying clown. She yanked her arm from the person that had pulled her from the street, staggered to sit by the curb, breathing deeply, willing herself to calm down. _You’re okay, you’re okay_.

“Jesus! Is this still happening?”

She had come back, had been able to contain herself from the panic attack that threatened to overwhelm her. Before she looked up to see who it had been that kept her from being ran over, the same person that had triggered the beginnings of a panic attack she thought she’d successfully overcome, she knew who it would be—who it could only be.

Matthew.

 

 

 

 

 

Robin didn’t believe in signs, but even she had to admit that running into her ex-husband outside of a place she shouldn’t be, about to do what she shouldn’t be doing, was an ominous one. Add to that how Sarah Shadlock had damn nearly gotten her killed distracting her like that, and her first panic attack in months.

Finding out her ex-husband and his mistress still saw each other months after the destruction of their past relationships—Sarah was no longer wearing her engagement ring—was secondary to her primary concern: that the three of them were heading in the same direction.

“Are you on a case? Is _he_ here?” Matthew’s curt voice of simmering agitation was so familiar to Robin, it was almost triggering. She ignored him, ignored how he moved himself between her and oncoming traffic as they crossed the street, Sarah lagging a few paces behind. She’s decided that she was going to find Harry, tell her their half-baked plan was off, and go back to the office.

From the clear windows of the museum’s cafe, Robin could already see Harry looking at her, utterly bewildered. Her wild strawberry blonde curls were in a bun today, and she was wearing black from head to foot, with a denim button down that was so large on her, it had to be Cormoran’s.

“Is that Harry?” Sarah Shadlock gasped as she caught up. Robin saw her grab for Matthew’s arm as she nearly slipped on the pavement. “Gosh, she’s so stunning!” _Bitch,_ Robin thought. Not that she felt a pang of jealousy at her micro gesture of possessiveness, or that she disagrees that Harry is stunning (she was), but every little thing Sarah Shadlock did annoyed the shit out of her.

But mostly, Robin wished them to _not be there_.

“You’re working on the Haze Heist, aren’t you?” said Sarah, eyes wide and intrigued, possibly deliberately blocking her way to the door. “You must be! Are you here to interview Maimie Wright? She’s Cormoran’s sister, isn’t she?”

“Can you move?” Robin asked Sarah, stone-faced. Sarah took a step closer to Matthew, and Robin saw how she relished leaning her body against his tall, well-built frame. Robin felt her eyes involuntarily roll.

Robin made for the door before Matthew reached for it and practically stomped towards her cousin and her companion.

“What are you doing with Matthew and that whore?” said Harry in lieu of a hello.

She didn’t appreciate Harry calling anyone a whore (even Sarah Shadlock), but there were more important things she needed to say.

“Harry, listen—“ said Robin, plopping on an empty chair. “

“I don’t feel right meeting Maimie behind Cormoran’s back.” said Robin honestly, imploringly. “If we want to follow this line of investigation, he should be in on it.”

“I’ve actually thought about it too,” agreed Harry. “He’ll probably leave me if he found out I met one of his sisters _and_ brought you along.”

“Hm.” said Robin, unsure how to react.

“What if we just have a look around? We’re already here. Just to go and see if anybody knows something.”

Robin watched as Matthew and Sarah disappeared into the gallery. She knew very well that the best thing for her to do was leave. Matthew and Sarah’s presence were like large stop signs telling her to turn back, but her instincts are telling her there’s a bigger case happening and if she wanted to know more about the Haze Heist, this could be her only shot.

“Okay.”

That was all Harry needed. She pulled a large bag from under the chair and put it on the table. “Do you know how to operate a DSLR?”

“Er,” said Robin, taking out the large camera from the bag. She’s seen plenty of these things, of course, but usually accosting her in and out of court rooms as she gave statements in high profile cases. Apparently, they were very big up close. She held it up to her face and looked through the viewfinder, directing the lenses at her cousin who was looking concerned.

“Loaned this from VF so you’ll need to take _actual_ pictures. It was the only thing I could get short notice.”

“As long as it’s not for the cover,” Robin joked. The look on Harry gave her pause. “It isn’t, is it?”

“It might be,” Harry conceded. “they’re offering five times my rates and a rights option in case it turns into—” she shook her head. “It’ll be fine. C’mon.” said Harry, standing up.

Robin followed.

 

 

 

 

 

As they moved into the gallery, Robin heard a godawful racket. As though someone was clubbing a car with a baseball bat. The space itself was vast, white walls lined with canvases. There were installations on the floor space, including a gigantic Magic 8 ball and a man in a wife-beater beating what Robin recognized as a Porsche 918 Spyder with a baseball bat. “Wh—“

“Ivan Bobkov.” Harry whispered in Robin’s ear. “I don’t get it either.” she said, clapping half-heartedly as the man stopped decimating the luxury vehicle and a small group of spectators clapped, too, Matthew among them.

Robin noticed two empty chairs facing each other at the very middle of the space. “Is that an installation too?” Robin joked. Surely it’s just two chairs left in the middle of the floor. “Nah, those are just chairs.” said Harry. “Marina Abramovic is doing a show here in a week. They’ve just laid it out to make sure none of the broken shit from Ivan’s piece will touch this space.”

Art was not exactly Robin’s forte, but she thought she had a decent eye for it. These, however, were stretching her usually open mind.

Harry took her by the hand and pulled her to the opposite side of the large gallery. As they walked closer to a large painting, Robin realized, the painting wasn’t where she thought she was, and that it was actually an archway into the next area of the gallery.

It was a smaller room than the first, with one wall lined with a large triptych of cubist paintings that flowed into each other. There were walls suspended in the middle of the floor, with their own paintings hanging against them. There were painting-sized gaps in the artwork and Robin knew they were in the room where the burglary happened. She held her large camera over her face and started taking pictures.

“Please don’t get too close!” a frantic voice yelled at them from the other room. Both cousins stilled. Robin could see a man in glasses running towards them and headed for Robin, pulling her forward.

“You nearly backed into a Picasso!” he shrieked. He was wearing a very tight button-down with pineapple prints, and a bright red bowtie. “Sorry.” said Robin, turning her back to see that she was feet away from the painting in question.

“Who are you?” the man sounded abrasive, looking at her from head to foot.

“She’s with me, Mort.” said Harry, walking up to both of them. The man named Mort turned to her cousin and visibly relaxed, letting go of Robin to give Harry air kisses on both cheeks. “Harriet! Paul told me you’d be coming!”

“This is Robin, my photographer.” said Harry, gesturing to her. It occurred to Robin that they hadn’t worked out a backstory for this little op they were running. The suddenness of Harry’s call taking away her usual presence of mind to prepare. Seeing as Harry just introduced her by her name, maybe they were telling truths. She held out her hand, Mort shook it reluctantly. Robin knew he’s made up his mind on disliking her after she _didn’t_ nearly back into a Picasso.

“Robin, this is Mortimer Roth, Arts Curator—“

“Associate Director, _darling_.” Mort cut her off.

“What happened to Rhodora?” asked Harry, sidetracked.

“After half the Mullens in this place got stolen under her nose? She was begging the board to let her resign instead of firing her outright. No gallery’s going to touch her with that on her back. Of course, cat’s out of the bag either way so that’s her done.” said Mort, who was talking about his colleague’s ruination with relish. “Everyone’s moved up!”

He hooked his arm in Harry’s, leading her to walk through the room, leaving Robin behind. Harry gestured for Robin to follow them. Robin took out her phone and started recording as she followed the two walking, Mort droning on with mindless gossip about his ex-boss.

“Can you tell me what happened last week?” she heard Harry ask, cutting to the chase. Robin wildly hoped the artist from the next room wouldn’t start smashing something else and make a lot of noise again.

“The whole place was shut down because we had to get that monstrosity—“ Mort pointed to the Magic 8-ball “inside, and Ivan _insisted_ it was part of the process that he had to drive the car in place himself. Insurance wouldn’t let us do that stunt, so we had to pull everything off the displays just in case Ivan decided to drive through a wall for shits and giggles.”

“Everything in this room was originally outside, and _this_ is where the Abramovic was going to happen but the owner of the Picasso threatened to pull it out if it was within shrapnel distance of the Porsche, and we couldn’t _not_ have it, seeing as we put together this cubist exhibit around that damned piece. Maimie was happy, of course. If this exhibition was outside with all the rest of it, who’d give a shit about the Mullens? People would just head straight for the Picasso, take their selfies, and play with the 8-ball.”

They walked through the smaller gallery, Robin spotting Matthew behind the makeshift walls, probably thinking he was stalking her effectively. What was he doing at Haze Gallery at all? Matthew’s never one for art, unless he was invited by someone he wanted to impress. Sarah, of course, worked at the auction house Christie’s, but even then Robin never knew her to express actual interest in art apart from talking about their value.

“Of course,” said Mort. Robin rushed to where he stoped infront of an empty patch of wall, looking up at it as though there was something to see. “that point is moot now, isn’t it? Shame. Shirley Mullens was a once-in-a-generation sort of talent. But she had no hope of making a name for herself, marrying that shitshow Jonny Rokeby—no offense.”

“Why ‘no offense’?” said Harry.

“Isn’t he future _daddy-in-law_ these days?”

Robin felt her face move, but couldn’t be sure how she must look. Harry, however, looked bewildered. “Where’d you get that?”

“Paul talks, darling.” said Mort, lasciviously running his finger down the edge of his mouth. Harry pushed Mort’s shoulder playfully, he just laughed. “He tells me it’s getting serious,” said Mort, still not over teasing Harry. “I didn’t think big butch bears were your type.”

Robin was tempted to turn off her phone, not wanting a keepsake of this part of the conversation, knowing she’ll have to replay again later. But she knew she shouldn’t, because Mort was treading that fine line between completely useless to totally helpful.

“You haven’t told your boss, have you?” asked Harry. “I don’t think she’ll talk to me if she knows—“

“Relax. I’m just teasing. I’m not a complete cunt. Besides, she’s the type to shoot the messenger, and I like this new job I just got, thank you very much.”

“Okay.” said Harry, accepting this reasoning. “What about when the paintings were stolen?”

“I wasn’t here.” Mort shrugged. “Had tickets to _Wicked_ and went home with one of the Ozians. Showed him the meaning of _Defying Gravity_ , if you catch my drift.”

“You’re on the record, by the way.” Harry retorted, a little impatiently.

“Mort,” Robin spoke up, also keen to get somewhere. “Could you tell us something interesting about that night? Something nobody but you could tell us. I think a quote like that would go as a great caption to a photo of you next to the Picasso.”

Mort looked at Robin then and smiled. _Ha!_ Robin thought, inwardly. She found which lever to pull. “Alright,” said Mort conspiratorially. Robin and Harry leaned in closer. “Well, a Russian billionaire dropped by a couple of weeks ago trying to buy some of the Mullens, but Maimie wouldn’t sell.”

“Why not?” Harry asked, but Robin could feel her heart starting to race.

“Rhodora says he had mob ties and we’re a non-profit, _yadda yadda_. Knowing Maimie, she just didn’t want her mum’s stuff to be motel room art. So instead, they’re now probably being auctioned in the dark web for some Saudi prince to hang in his sex den. I wasn’t in the meeting myself, but weird things have been happening since that day, nothing as bad as the theft, though.”

“Weird things?” Robin prodded.

“Our security system going on the fritz, the CCTV switching off unprompted, power interruptions. We thought it might’ve been the lights exhibit we had on the main floor for a couple of weeks fucking up the electricity—in hindsight it might’ve been a security breach.”

Mort walked on through the smaller gallery, stopping occasionally to peer closer at a frame as if checking something. “The police thinks we’re all a bunch of idiots, of course, not calling it in. But the system was antiquated, and really the most valuable pieces we have _were_ the Mullens. Our backers wouldn’t upgrade an entire security system for a—“ Mort turned around to face both Ellacotts and mouthed the words ‘non major’ at them. “artist. The Picasso was part of a bigger deal to get donors to fund a wide systems upgrade, but the heist already happened before that ugly, overrated thing—“ he gestured to the Picasso “—arrived.”

“And the owner still lent it to you _after_ the museum got broken into?” asked Harry.

“That’s just Maimie. She knows how to work her magic if she wants, which she _rarely_ wants to. Doesn’t like bringing in work with bigger value than _mummy dearest_. So we put up with edgy internet artists dipping some religious relic in urine and calling it art. But we’ve been bleeding money, and the dumb bloggers are getting tired of Ivan’s schtick. Did you know his next idea is to just _burn_ a bathtub full of dollar bills? He’s _such_ a shit. Rhodora thinks he’s fucking—“

“Who does Rhodora think Ivan is fucking?”

Robin turned around and a very tall, very slender woman with short, slicked-back bleach blonde hair in a head-t0-toe emerald green velvet suit and heels had just joined them, Sarah Shadlock in tow.

It occurred to Robin that she had no idea what Maimie Rokeby-Wright would look like, and it amazed her that none of Jonny Rokeby’s children remotely looked similar to each other. Not even those who shared the same mother. Maimie was no different in looking entirely just herself. The only physical thing she had in common with Cormoran, from what she noticed so far, were their height. Maimie towered even over Robin who was tall herself. She supposed the older woman was at least six feet without the heels.

She felt a hand grab her hers. Harry had held it, giving her a brief anxious look before taking a deep breath, as if bracing herself.

Now face to face with Maimie, Robin realized going behind Cormoran’s back like this had been a _very bad idea_.

“Who does Rhodora think Ivan is fucking, Mort?” said Maimie in a steely voice complete with narrowed eyes that would make bigger men cower. Mort chuckled nervously, making a valiant attempt at changing the subject. “Oh you know Rhodora,” he waved his hand, trying to make his comment seem offhand and unimportant. “Thinks everyone’s fucking everybody—this is Harriet Ellacott for _Vanity Fair_.”

Harry held out her hand, head turned up towards Maimie (at 5’ 2”, she was significantly shorter). “Yes, hello. Paul called me about you coming.” said Maimie in a genuine, her cool demeanor thawing almost immediately. Maimie held out her hand to Robin as well. “And you?” she asked her.”

“Surely you recognize her!” interjected Sarah, as though wanting to remind Maimie she, too, was there.

 _Shit_.

“This is Robin Ellacott! She’s your brother Cormoran’s assistant!”

Robin remembered one summer with Harry when they were little, forbidden to explore the wooded area behind their grand uncle’s estate. Emboldened by each other far more than their natural curiosity and wonder, they walked hand-in-hand through heavy brambles and skidded straight into a deep pit.

 

 

 

 

 

Harry wasn’t picking up. Things have been weird between them since she came back from the cruise. It was largely his fault, of course. He felt claustrophobic with his father’s children and his father converging around him with their inconveniently-timed problems. And then there was Robin… _What about Robin?_

Giving up trying to get a hold of his girlfriend, his fingers typed in Robin’s number instead.

No answer.

It was lunch time. Perhaps Harry’s call earlier was about inviting Robin to lunch.

Cormoran held out a hand, about to open the door to his office when he heard a shuffling from behind the door. He had sent Barclay off on a different case. If Robin didn’t pick up her phone, she certainly wasn’t in the office. It was supposed to be empty, yet it wasn’t.

His body hunched, pressing his ear to the door. He gently wrapped his large hand on the knob and, like muscle memory, felt for the weapon he used to keep tucked by his belt waist when he used to do these sorts of things. He was unarmed now, but believed there was no one behind the door he couldn’t take down if he had to.

He turned the knob and pushed the door as hard as he could.

“It’s me! It’s only me!”

Dev had his hands up, as though surrendering, as though he was staring down the barrel of a gun.

“Fucking hell!” Cormoran bellowed. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought I’d bring Rob lunch!” said Dev. True enough, there was a plastic full of takeaway resting on top of the desk, but it didn’t explain why Dev was behind Robin’s desk at all.

Cormoran looked around cautiously, checking if anyone else was in. “Who let you in?”

“No one. The door wasn’t locked. I thought she was in, or you.”

 _I’m gonna effin kill Barclay_. Cormoran thought.

“Why were you going through Robin’s desk?” Cormoran asked, though it came out like a growl.

“I was looking for some paper. Was going to leave a note with the sandwich.” said Dev, without missing a beat. “D’you know where Rob is?”

Cormoran, finally deciding this little exchange was entirely due to Barclay’s carelessness, gestured for Dev to get away from behind Robin’s desk. “Out to lunch with Harry, I suspect. She rang her earlier.”

“Ah.” said Dev, getting the hint that Cormoran was kicking him out and walked towards the door. “D’you want it, instead?”

“What?"

“The sandwich.” said Dev, holding out the plastic to him.

Cormoran felt mollified, and a little ashamed that he had driven Dev out onto the landing and hehad offered him a sandwich. He could smell it from where he stood, his stomach rumbling audibly.

“Seriously. You can have it. Rob won’t be eating it if he’s out with Harry.”

It seemed polite to accept, and he supposed he should extend the same curtesy. “Want to stay for a bit? Wait for her, maybe? I’ve got beer.”

Dev smiled and shook his head. “That’s okay. I’ll catch her later. Sorry about being in your office alone.”

“That’s alright. Barclay should’ve locked up. Thanks for the sandwich.”

“See ya, Corm!” said Dev and walked down.

Dev wasn’t half bad, Corm had to admit, but his likability only made Cormoran dislike him more. Perhaps he was being this over the top because they’ve only been seeing each other for a month, Cormoran thought as he bit into the sandwich. And even then he didn’t know Robin well, at least not as well as he did. Because if Dev knew Robin well, he’d know she’d hate this sandwich. Too much onion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Matthew and Sarah makes a cameo appearance in this chapter because I'm a messy queen who lives for the drama. lmao. 
> 
> Also a little callback to the TV show at the end there. hehe.
> 
> I honestly didn't think this fic would get this involved lol. At this rate it'll be longer than Lethal White. Thanks for reading and commenting! They inspire me to keep chugging along. <3


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While waiting to interview a lead, Cormoran and Robin get to talking.

> _Just time we had truths told ‘round here.  
>  __Damn fine day, tell the truth.  
>  _ Tracy Letts, _August Osage County_

 

 

 

Cormoran watched Robin and Harry awhile as they walked down Denmark Street, talking to each other. They were both beautiful, and Cormoran noticed the perceptible turn of the head of men that passed by them. There was a strong family resemblance between the two; the same coloring, the same strawberry blonde hair, the same blue-gray eyes.

For all their similarities, they didn’t look like sisters. For one, Robin had a few inches over Harry, who was an entire foot shorter than Cormoran himself. He didn’t usually go for small women, but she’s an intriguing, feisty thing that enthralled him from the first. Her hair was long and curly giving her a wild air of adventure where Robin’s was shoulder-length and straight, making her always look effortlessly put together.

They looked very different. Robin’s face was doll-like, almost cherubic. Pre-Raphaelite, a tabloid had once described her features. He remembered Robin laughing at the ridiculous erudition, but Cormoran thought it was incredibly accurate. Harry, on the other hand, had dainty, delicate features. She reminded him of Charlotte, if he was being honest. A pointed beauty that could easily turn stark had she not been naturally warm and smiled often.

Why he was inwardly assessing the Ellacott women’s physical attributes as he smoked his fag, he wasn’t sure. He only knew that they were right there and if he wasn’t thinking about one, he’d be thinking about the other.

They stalled a moment when they finally noticed him still a few meters away. The look on their faces told him something was up. He noticed that both of them were carrying black bags. An elongated one Robin had on her back, and a larger duffel bag Harry had slung across a shoulder. If he was to guess, they were parts of a large, professional-grade camera. That, or a sniper and various police-grade weapons.

They headed straight for the Land Rover parked in front of where Cormoran was smoking. He walked up to them, wordlessly relieving Robin her bag and reaching to help Harry open the car’s back door. “Let me.”

She stepped back and he put the bags in Robin’s car. “Thanks.” said Harry, and he felt her hand on his back. So she has forgiven him for that morning’s row, or they were about to have a new one.

“Ready?” he asked Robin who gave Harry a look.

He could tell Robin wanted to tell him something, but thought better of it. Instead, she handed Harry the keys to the Land Rover.

“Thanks.” she said, and then to him, “Let’s talk later, okay?”

She said it in a tender sort of way that was ominous. The very curious part of him was annoyed that she was prolonging whatever it was that neither of them were telling him. But he knew there was work to be done, and now was not the time to pick a fight. She reached up to him, expecting a kiss. In deference to Robin, who was standing right there, he kissed Harry’s cheek instead.

 

 

 

 

 

“What was that about?” Cormoran asked immediately as he got in the driver’s seat of the BMW. Robin never drove Cormoran’s car when she was with him. “Where had you two been?”

Robin recalled the disastrous end to their trip at Haze Gallery, with Sarah Shadlock running her mouth about Cormoran to Maimie who clearly didn’t appreciate his estranged brother being brought up in her place of work. Both of them were practically escorted out, killing not only Harry’s article, but any possibility of Robin herself investigating the heist further.

 _Fuck Sarah Shadlock,_ Robin thought. She didn’t give a damn about the affair. She could have Matthew all she wants, but to cause her a valuable in with an important case—one that may have Cormoran’s safety or _life_ on the line… she _loathed_ her. Loathed even more that it was her obtuseness that caused the damage. It hadn’t been a calculated ruination at all, she had been at the right place at the right time and blundered all over her investigation.

“If I tell you, will you promise not to yell?”

“Yeah, if you didn’t do anything for me to yell about.” snided Cormoran. When she didn’t speak, he continued. “You two went to Haze, didn’t you?”

He heard the hint of annoyance in Cormoran’s voice.

“Yes.” she said simply. She saw Cormoran shake his head from the corner of her eye.

“And?”

Robin told him about Mortimer Roth, about the Russian billionaire that took interest with the Mullens, that Maimie had rejected. Told him about the weird things that started happening, the black outs, the security breaches. She left out the part about Sarah Shadlock, and Matthew, and the panic attack, also leaving out Mort’s aside, _“He tells me it’s getting serious,”_

Cormoran listened attentively, and allowed her to get through her story without cutting her off. He was a good listener, and she liked how he understood even things she hadn’t been saying. Judging from how he reacted when she started telling him about the Russian billionaire, he knew Arza was also in his mind.

“Did you meet her?” he asked. Robin knew he meant Maimie.

“Yes.” Robin answered.

“Did she know who you two were?” Cormoran tore his eyes from the road for a second to look at her, she was already staring at him. “Relative to me, I mean.”

“That I’m your work partner, yes.” said Robin, feeling Cormoran was due nothing short of utmost honesty. “I don’t think she knows about Harry. At least not—” Robin didn’t know what kept her from finishing, _as your girlfriend,_ but she did stop. “She was prepared for the interview, but I reckon she thought I used Harry to get to her. Kicked us out pretty much immediately after.”

Cormoran drove in silence for awhile. It wasn’t their usual comfortable one, with Robin not being sure what Cormoran was thinking. As the traffic eased and he was coasting smoothly further from the capital, he finally spoke.

“She wrote to me, you know.”

“Who?”

“Maimie. When I was eleven, I got a piece of post from her blaming me for her family breaking up, her mother killing herself—“

Robin heard herself gasp. Cormoran looked grim, eyes fixed on the road, and then he smiled darkly, a sort of half-smirk at some irony Robin didn’t know.

“That might be why she kicked you out. Hates my guts…” his joke died as he turned to look at Robin, who had squeezed his wrist that was slack on the car’s gears.

“I’m sorry that happened to you.” said Robin seriously, feeling tender towards him. “That’s an awful thing to hear as a child.”

They looked at each other for a moment, Robin vaguely aware of Cormoran’s hand moving from the gear. He could feel his fingers’ feather-light ghosting, about to entwine with hers.

A honk.

Robin sat upright and looked straight ahead, feeling a blush creeping up her cheeks.

“Dev came by while you were out.” said Cormoran most uncharacteristically. He has never brought Dev up in conversation, and definitely not clearly in the context of him as Robin’s boyfriend.

“Oh?”

“Left you a sandwich. Good bloke.”

“Yes. I think so, too.” Robin replied, feeling hazy at that little moment just then Cormoran bringing up Dev.

“Going well, is it?” Cormoran asked.

Robin now could tell that this was a direct response to whatever it was that happened, or nearly happened, or didn’t happen.

“I suppose…”

“That’s good.”

They rode around in silence again, breaking only when Cormoran’s phone rang. Robin saw from the screen that it was Shanker.

“Shanker. What have you heard?”

“Hey Bunsen. Durban says Arza didn’t say anything about calling off the green light—“

“What?” Cormoran exclaimed, stomping on the breaks. His arm instinctively shot to the side, blocking Robin from colliding with the dashboard. “What do you mean he hasn’t called it off?”

“Didn’t say anything about marking your brother for next week, neither. Must be other guys he’s called, Bunsen. He’s been calling other guys lately.”

“Your guy hasn’t been given an order? Any order?” Cormoran asked, agitated, alarmed.

“Not for your bruv, no.” Shanker repeated. “Listen Bunsen, got to go. Can’t really talk long where I’m at—“

“Shanker!” Cormoran bellowed, making Robin jump. “You can’t ask him directly?”

“He’s in Russia or summat, can’t go callin’ Russia, can I?”

Robin swallowed the involuntary snigger that nearly came out of her. Shanker was always a unique sort of fellow unlike anyone Robin has ever met, and she’s met a fair amount of unusual individuals working as a private detective.

The phone clicked.

“Fuck.” Cormoran muttered, swerving back into traffic.

“He could’ve called it off. We know he doesn’t carry out an order (Robin stopped herself from saying ‘hit’) after it’s been paid.”

“Yeah. Would be nice to get a confirmation, though. Shit. Al’s gonna go spare thinking about it. Thought that could be one less thing for him to worry about.”

Robin regarded this version of Cormoran, this innate concern and soft spot he has for his family that he doesn’t often show people. She felt compelled to touch his arm again, but desisted. The first instance topped far too quickly into something surprising (dangerous?) that a repeat might—what? Go further down a rabbit hole?

They arrived a little earlier than Robin’s appointment with Mark Leonowens so they wiled the time at the coffee shop across. Robin’s plan was to introduce herself as Venetia Hall, a young mother hoping to get her son in the school.

“What’s the young chap’s name?” Cormoran asked, quizzing her on her backstory. He was affecting the air of a pompous head teacher to make her laugh.

“Charlie. Little Charlie Hall. Very into bugs these days. Caterpillars, spiders. Bees, especially. Obsessed with bees.”

“Bees?” Cormoran asked, dropping his jokey accent.

Robin laughed. “It was the sort of thing I liked as a kid. My great uncle had a huge estate. Gardens everywhere. He also loved honey, and made his own.”

“Maybe that’s why Angus kept carting you off, if you preferred the bees over him.”

Robin was surprised. Cormoran had excellent memory of course, but this was an insignificant little fact about her said offhand years ago. She couldn’t believe he remembered her old pony’s name. And that he would cart her off. Even with her limited experience of men, she knew enough to know that they don’t ordinarily pay attention.

“So he’s outdoorsy! What’s his favorite sport?” Cormoran asked, reverting back to the character he was putting on.

Robin shrugged. “He likes to go exploring and climbing. Always off on adventures, solving little mysteries. He says he wants to be a policeman one day.”

“No doubt he’ll go far.” said Cormoran in his voice, smiling at Robin with a kind look in his eyes.

“Thanks.” she half-whispered, understanding what he meant.

“So,” said Cormoran in character again. “What does Mr. Hall do.”

“Private detective.” said Robin without thinking. Cormoran had a pleasantly bewildered look on his face. And then Robin realized her mistake.

“I mean—“ Robin shook her head. “I didn’t mean— I meant because _I’m_ a private— because you taught me it’s best to be as close to…“

“Right. Of course. That’s also what I…” said Cormoran, thought dying away.

Awkward silence, and then Cormoran spoke again. “Private detective might be too on the nose for this op, Robin. What about accountant?”

Robin shot him a look. He laughed.

“Er, journalist? No. This is the problem when you surround yourself with interesting people.” Robin joked.

“Works in IT?” Cormoran offered. “That’s vague enough.”

“Hm.” thought Robin. It was the most ‘normal’ job she could think of to say that she’ll have real-life anecdotes to share if asked (Dev often told stories).

Robin looked out into the street, the school was finally letting children out. She watched as a little girl in pig tails run up to her mum. “Did you ever want children?” she asked idly.

“No.” Cormoran grunted almost immediately and then he asked, “You?”

Robin was still looking out the window, thinking. “I always thought I was going to, because Matthew wanted them and I suppose women just grew up thinking it’s part of our destiny to become mothers.”

She turned back to Cormoran and looked at him straight in his eyes. “You got me wrong, you know. That night at the Tottenham. You thought I deserved things you could never give me, but you never asked if I wanted them in the first place.”

She looked down at her drink, the hot mug warming her hands that felt like ice. She saw Cormoran’s hand move on the table, as though to reach out to her, but unsure.

She never had this. Never told him what she wished she told him when he foolishly rejected her after their date six months ago. Pride and anger welled up then, pushing down the retort she wished she had said.

_“I don’t want anything.” she imagined herself saying as he held her hand in his. “Only you.”_

She looked back at Cormoran, his face so much like the agonized him that was letting her down gently that night.

“I didn’t want anything.” said Robin, echoing what she wanted to say then. “Only you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew.
> 
> Things were getting too slow so I decided to blow some shit up!!! Lol.
> 
> The bees thing is because I literally just watched the Holliday Grainger film, Tell It To The Bees, but I imagined Robin would be a very outdoorsy sort of child anyway.
> 
> And with the description of the Ellacott's at the start of the chapter, if it helps in my head Harry looks like Lily James in Mamma Mia 2. Lol. I was OBSESSED with her when I started writing this, so that's who I'm always picturing. ;)


	15. Six Months Ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six months ago, Robin and Cormoran went out on a date. This is that date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FLUFF! FLUFF! IT'S ALL FLUFF!

 

> _Thank God we can’t tell the future.  
>  __We’d never get out of bed.  
>  _ Tracy Letts, _August Osage County_

 

 

 

 

**SIX MONTHS AGO**

 

 

 

 

 

“D’you want to have dinner tonight?” Ilsa asked Cormoran over the phone, after they had wrapped up conferring with each other on a case.

“I thought Nick’s coming back tonight?”

“His flight got moved to tomorrow. There’s chili in the fridge that’s about to go bad I was hoping to get through.”

“Honored to be chosen to consume your rotting chili—”

“It’s still good! If it isn’t, I think we can find a gastroenterologist on call.”

Cormoran chuckled. “Sounds fun, but can’t tonight. If it’s still not revolting by morning, I can go for breakfast chili.”

A jolt went through Cormoran, thinking of a time in his immediate future where tonight’s _whatever it is_ have already happened. He tried very hard not to consider different scenarios, including one of him in bed, stroking strawberry blonde hair off Robin’s beautiful, sleeping face…

“What did you just say?”

Cormoran, lost in thought, had missed the last thing Ilsa said, remembering only that she had said ‘Robin’.

“Oh, just that I also invited Robin but she said she’s got a date.”

“Ah.” said Cormoran, hoping his voice sounded indifferent.

“And how do we feel about that?”

Cormoran could picture the meaningful look on Ilsa’s face clearly in his mind’s eye. He imagined being truthful, confessing as though to a priest or psychologist. Mostly, he felt anxious. Six-foot-two and nearing forty, he had the first date jitters.

“I don’t think my lawyer should be encouraging me so much to pursue my employee. Or are you hoping for a new lawsuit to sink your teeth into?”

She laughed. “Just as well, you don’t want to be the first bloke she dates right after the ex-husband. People never end up with the rebound.”

“Hm.” Cormoran grunted, wishing Ilsa didn’t just say what she said. “Got to go, Ilsa. Speak soon.” 

He had pulled the phone away from his ear and waited for Ilsa’s distant goodbye before hanging up.

There was a text message on his screen from Robin, telling him the time and place for tonight.

Despite himself and the tangle of thoughts in his head, he smiled and crafted a reply.

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Can I pick you up at your flat instead? It’s on the way. C x"

Robin beamed at the screen, putting it down by her yoga mat as she stretched into a new pose. Contained in this tiny message is a multitude of meaning: that he asked to pick her up instead in a very old-fashioned Cormoran sort of way, that by doing this he was acknowledging that this was indeed a date-date, and not just an after-work hang between colleagues, and that he signed it with a kiss.

 _A kiss_ …

She hadn’t even thought about that. Or maybe she had. She must’ve considered it. This was _her_ idea after all. Robin recalled that one night many months ago, on a dark parking lot, her upper lip near-enveloped by his; a platonic kiss of gratitude landing in the wrong area. She supposed if this went well, there _would_ be deliberate kissing, and if it wen’t really well…

Robin shook her head, trying to clear it. It had been over twelve years since her last first date, and she supposed it would be a very different experience than swatting Matthew’s hand away at a dark movie theater as he tried to cop a feel.

She told Cormoran the restaurant, the sort of place you don’t really go with colleagues unless you’re fat cats in suits celebrating closing a deal with the boys, but it was favourite of her family to mark important occasions. She loves the fillet mignon, and the ambiance, and the many mature couples who have grown fondly of each other through the decades.

Most importantly, it was also the nicest place Robin could think of that Matthew had never been.

Smiling, he picked her phone back up and replied: "Sure! 730? R xx"

She chuckled at the deliberate boldness of the extra kiss she typed as she put the mobile down again and resumed her workout.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“…and if you can believe it, the poor sod was under the hood!” Shanker cackled jovially as he walked down the street with Strike and Barclay. The ex-squaddie was howling right with Shanker, Cormoran grinning despite himself. He was preoccupied, and he knew perfectly well by what.

The three of them were on their way to a tenement that housed a drug cartel leader’s mistress. Robin didn’t know him and Barclay were working on a weekend, with Cormoran preferring to keep her away from the grimier, more disturbing aspects of their job at least until she’s had more time with the CBT. There were dangerous parts of London even he, with his bulk and breadth, knew shouldn’t be wandered into alone.

How would the work change, he wondered, _when_ (his stomach gave a swoop at the thought) he and Robin got together? It was only human nature to protect those you lo— _care about_ (he controlled himself)—from obvious dangers. Not that he wasn’t already doing that now with Robin to the best of his ability, but he might exert his influence as her _boyfriend_ (another swoop) to tell her not to go knocking down suspects’ doors. Of course she, alternatively, as his _girlfriend_ (a frisson of excitement) could always ask him to back off and he knew he likely would.

He’d give her anything, if she asked. He’d give her the moon if that’s what she wanted.

The sight of Shanker hunching against a wall in a tight alley distracted him from his reverie.

“Shanker!” he boomed. “That wall has a shop attached to it. Might want to ask if you can use the loo!”

“Alright! Sheesh.” Shanker rolled his eyes, sulking into the establishment he was about to urinate on. He shook his head at Shanker’s petulance.

Shanker poked his head out again. “Can’t use the loo if I ain’t buyin’ anythin’,” he declared.

Then Cormoran realized they were at a florist. Pangs of shame crept up, realizing he hasn’t even thought aboutbringing anything. He had been too preoccupied with implications that he hasn’t really wrapped his mind around what was to happen tonight.

“Tell ‘em I’m buying something.” he told Shanker as he perused the flowers displayed outside. He didn’t even know Robin’s favorite flower, if she had any. He remembered the Yorkshire flowers in her hair on her wedding, and even the smell of them when he hugged her on the stairs. But to allude to her wedding with Matthew on a night like this felt incongruous.er

“Hot date tonight, boss?” Sam asked, stepping inside the establishment with him now.

“You can say that.” Strike smiled despite himself.

“Is it Rob?”

Cormoran turned to him, surprised. “What makes you say that.”

Barclay was smirking. “You two have been making eyes at each other since I’ve known ye. Good on ye for gettin’ in there, mate. It’s only a matter of time before some bloke snatches her up, pretty bird like that.” he said, patting him on the back.

“Lezzgo!” Shanker announced, joining the other two.

“You haven’t bought anything yet!” squeaked the timid attendant at the register.

“Give ‘em a minute, the first flowers a man gives a woman is very important ye know.” Barclay joked.

“Hot date, Bunsen?” Shanker echoed Barclay.

“Aye, its his partner, Rob—“

“What!” Shanker yelled, stunned. Cormoran looked at him. His face was serious, eyes boring into Cormoran’s. To his surprise, Shanker hugged him. Tight. The last time had been at Leda’s funeral. “Fuckin’ finally!”

“D’you know Rob?” Barclay asked Shanker.

“Yeah. Good person, reminds me of your mum, actually, Bunsen.” he said to them both.

As the two men chattered about Robin’s many great qualities, Cormoran spotted a row of corsages by the wall. He stopped in front of a single yellow gerbera daisy, bright and open, dainty in its way. It made him smile.

“That one,” he pointed. “I’ll take that one.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You didn’t have to dress up for me!” Vanessa Ekwensi joked as she stepped inside Robin’s flat. Robin was in a form-fitting black dress when Vanessa rang. She had been trying on dresses, unable to settle on any one.

“I’m just looking for a dress.” Robin laughed, giving her friend a hug. “Are those the files?” she asked, gesturing to the folders Vanessa was holding.

“Yep. If Eric asks, you didn’t get it from me.”

“Gotcha.”

“Going to some place fancy tonight?” asked Vanessa.

“Er, yep.” said Robin a little uneasily. She hadn’t thought about telling other people, she was so focused on what was to happen tonight.

“Running surveillance on that money launderer again?” she asked, referring to a current case that had the agency casing an events place near the West End.

“Nope.” said Robin without further explanation. “Would you mind helping me pick out a dress?”

Vanessa was her only friend in London that was entirely hers, she thought. She suspected Ilsa would have her in a trench coat with nothing underneath if Robin told her she was going out with her oldest friend.

“Oh! Are you going on a date?” Vanessa asked, walking up the stairs behind Robin.

“I think so.” Robin admitted, shimmying out of the black dress and piling it on the bed along with other dresses she’s rejected, including the green Cavalli Cormoran had gifted her.

“What do you mean you ‘think so’? What’s so unclear—“ and then dawning comprehension. “No!”

“Yes.” Robin said, trying not to match the sheer excitement on Vanessa’s voice. Then she grinned, so giddy she felt like jumping. Quite apart from going out on a date and who she was going out with, she felt like this is something she missed, too, talking about boys with a mate and getting ready and playing dress up and feeling thrilled by the start of something new.

As it turned out, Vanessa was an excellent wing woman, and was honest in her critiques as Robin paraded dress after dress.

“Where’d you get this!” Vanessa shrieked, pulling out an elegant long red halter dress still in a garment bag.

“Oh! That was a gift from my cousin. She called it a divorce present.” Robin laughed.

“Your cousin knew what she was talking about because _this_ ,” said Vanessa dramatically, holding it up against Robin as they looked at her reflection in the mirror. “is totally a ‘first date after dumping my shit ex husband’ dress.”

Robin liked how she looked even with the dress just against her, but she worried it would be too much, especially if Cormoran showed up in one of his rumpled work shirts because he didn’t think this was totally not a date and he didn’t think of her in that way.

“Ha!” Vanessa exclaimed. “You two have been dancing around each other for _years_. I was so sure you were together when I first met you.”

Robin didn’t realize she had been mumbling her little insecurities.

“Besides, if he didn’t think it was a date, seeing you in that dress is all the clue he needs. Isn’t he, like, the best detective in London or something?”

Robin giggled.

“I gotta go,” said Vanessa, getting up from the bed. She put her hands on Robin’s shoulders, as though bracing her. “Don’t worry too much.”

“Okay.”

“Have fun.”

“I will.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Robin giggled. “Alright.”

“Tell me everything.”

“Totally.”

As she left the room, she turned back to Robin. “Have you got condoms because I’ve—”

“Bye, Vanessa!”

 

 

 

 

 

Cormoran stopped at Robin’s stoop, collecting himself. He was too intelligent to keep pretending he didn’t know why he was feeling some type of way about tonight. He’s been to countless dates, numerous first ones, but none of them had been with someone that meant to him like this. He has never before pursued anyone that was so much his friend—his best, even. She was also his first and only business partner. They complement each other in every way he could imagine.

_“I’m not going.” Cormoran said, as bravely as he could, trying to come off as certain and sure in the face of a mother who could see right through him. “Mr. Dudley at the gym said there’s a job for me, and I could keep boxing. That brings money in.”_

_“Oh, darling.” said Leda, wrapping her bony arms around her large son. He was nearly twice the size of his mother even as a teenager, but he felt her love shrouding every part of him as though a blanket. “It’s Oxford, darling.” she cooed in his ear. “It’s everything you’ve ever wanted.”_

_“But what if—“ he protested, glaring at the disgusting shape of Whittaker, hunched over the ramshackle kitchen table. “I could fail.” he said feebly, feeling like he was a little boy._

_Leda pulled away, and held his face in her soft, gentle hands. “Take a leap, baby,” she said, kissing his brow and beaming. “Beautiful things are waiting.”_

It was a Deadbeat song she quoted, but it gave him strength then. With his mother’s encouragement reverberating within him, he knocked.

 

 

 

 

 

 

She was a vision in crimson, in a mid-length sleeveless dress that hugged her form well. He has always known her to be beautiful, but this was a version of her he’s never seen—dolled up and excited and most importantly, herself. She wasn’t dressed to assume a different identity, to attend a court hearing, or wherever else she dresses up for in their line of work.

“Hi.” he said a little breathlessly, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek (a bold move!). “You’re beautiful.”

He had meant to say that she _looked_ beautiful but didn’t quite manage, the many times he wanted to tell her that and it hadn’t been appropriate.

“Thanks.” she replied, a little smirk on the corner of her mouth. “Don’t you look smart.”

“I didn’t mean for us to match—“ he said, because he had worn a pale pink undershirt over a new sports coat.

“No, I like it.” said Robin, her hand briefly resting on his chest. There was something palpably different in the air between the two of them, something charged and thrilling and new. It was like he was meeting her for the first time.

“I’ve never seen you wear this color before.” said Robin.

“Not exactly a good fit for trying to get information out of ex-squaddies and drug kingpins.” Cormoran joked, feeling sheepish.

She laughed. He liked making her laugh.

“I got you this,” he said, pulling out the small see-through box containing the corsage of a single white gerbera daisy. “Wasn’t sure if you liked flowers, but—“

“I love it.” said Robin. She opened the box and pressed it up to her nose, closing her eyes as she smelled it, smiling. Cormoran felt his heart swell. “Would you help me?” she asked, gesturing for him to help her tie it around her wrist.

“Sure.” he said, gently tying the ribbon into a knot on her wrist, the brush of his fingertips against her wrist a sensual interlude. She felt her shiver.

“What is it?” he asked, concerned. She shook her strawberry blonde hair, worn the way she usually does and he found that he liked her best like this. “Nothing. Just tickled.” she smiled.

It was a quick, easy drive up to the restaurant with Robin pulling his leg about how she’s never experienced his old BMW this clean before. He was mildly embarrassed that she picked up on it, but she seemed elated at every instance where he had gone out of his way for tonight. It made him happy to see her so happy.

The banter was easy and familiar, Cormoran stealing glances at Robin’s cheerful face every so often. Much as he fought it, as he begged himself to slow down and assess and _just fucking think for a fucking second_ , he couldn’t help picturing tomorrow, and the rest of it— Robin next to him, laughing, joking, talking inconsequential nonsense that’s so precious to him now.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Here,” said Cormoran, putting his coat over Robin’s bare shoulders. It felt warm and heavy, and smelled of his cologne and cigarette smoke. She didn’t find it unpleasant. In fact, it felt cozy, like being under the covers on a cold rainy night.

They walked side by side awhile through the dimly-lit parking lot, Robin so aware of their hands brushing gently as they went. Ever bold, Robin slipped her hands in his. He squeezed, but didn’t look back nor pull away. His hand was large and rough, something she decided she liked. They felt more tangible somehow, more real. As though they had been places, done things. Matthew’s (she couldn’t help but compare) were soft and smooth.

 _Am I mad?_ Robin asked herself, looking up at Cormoran, the lamplight casting light on his profile. She didn’t feel distress over the fact that she was in a nice dress, walking hand in hand to a nice restaurant with her friend and work partner. She only felt giddy and overwhelmingly excited. _I must be mad_.

She stopped walking, tugging at him as he continued to walk away.

“What?” he asked, surprised. “What’s wrong?”

She stepped into him, hands reaching out to caress his face. His eyes closed as her fingers touched his brow. She tip toed as he bent his head, tilting some as she closed the gap, their lips meeting in gentle caress. She felt his hands on her hip, felt him pull her closer against him as he opened his mouth, deepening the kiss they were sharing. She could do this forever, Robin thought, could stay standing on this dark parking lot, under this lamp light, kissing Cormoran forever.

Glaring lights blinked at them. Cormoran was the one to pull away, attention to the car whose path they were blocking. Robin laughed, a little embarrassed, head resting on Cormoran’s chest a second before pulling him out of the way and into the darkness.

She was still laughing as she leaned against a Jeep Wrangler, pulling Cormoran to her, his large hands on her waist, panting, smiling down at her. She kissed him again. And again.

“We should get inside,” he mumbled, mouth still pressed against hers. “It’s starting to rain.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

They were drenched by the time they reached the restaurant. It was bright and warm and bustling, the trill of ABBA playing in the background. It was full of older couples who laughed and chatted and dined. Cormoran still felt shivery, and not entirely due to the cold rain that has drenched his shirt.

How they found their table, Cormoran wasn’t sure. He only knew that they had seated on a booth, Robin sitting close as his arm pulled her closer, huddling them together. She was drenched, too, hair wet and wavy down her jubilant face. She’s so beautiful like this, he thought, whenever she laughed. It made her look younger and care free and precious. _“You thrill me, you delight me… you please me, you excite me, you’re all that I’ve been yearning for…”_   the song playing softly on the speakers.

He cupped her face in his hand, feeling her soft skin against his thumb. Touching her had always felt like muscle memory, of a past him and a past her reverberating within themselves or through the ages. It was new and yet pleasantly familiar. Right. Home.

He looked into her blue-gray eyes, in complete awe of Robin, of her choosing him, wanting him, letting him hold her like this. How lucky was he, how unbelievably, incredibly lucky was he that this exquisite being crashed into his life?

 _I love you, I adore you  
_ _I lay my life before you  
_ _I only want you more and more_

He wanted right then to say those words he never thought he would ever say again to another woman, the thing you’re not supposed to say too soon, you’re never ever supposed to say unless you mean it; but he had meant it, in a visceral, real way that felt like a knot in his chest or hitch in his throat that was begging to be let out. He wanted her to understand, to feel the unyielding intensity of what she means to him, of what he feels for her, of how he is now willing, ever-willing to risk everything, everything…

He kissed her instead, softly this time. He sighed as he took in the smell of her—subtly sweet, a faint hint of powder and flowers and rain.

She pulled away, but kept her face close. Smiling up at him. “Hi,” she said.

“Hi.” he replied.

 _And finally it seems, my lonely days are through  
_ _I have been waiting for you_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ilsa! Vanessa! Lol @ these two goobers not even making it to the restaurant. XD 
> 
> I hadn't fleshed this date out when I started anchoring Robin and Cormoran's dynamic for this fic with a trial-and-error date thing, but now that it's fully written I kinda wanna give Cormoran an upside smack??? Lol.
> 
> Shoutout to E who said I've captured the characters perfectly because that's honestly the most important thing to me!!! I want it to feel like this is the Robin and Cormoran we know-- a little oblivious about their obvious connection, generally very frustrating to watch as a romantic couple lol.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this special chapter!!! ~~Because pain is coming~~


	16. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of a surprising revelation, Cormoran considers what happened before and what's happening now while Robin takes charge of interviewing a suspect.

> _I don't give a care about the past anymore,  
> _ _the mistakes I made, the way I thought,  
>  I won't go back there.   
> _\- Tracy Letts, _August: Osage County_

 

 

 

 

 

She said it casually, as though it was inconsequential trivia; a fun little fact that may have been true, but not anymore. He was unnerved by it. Stunned silent. His brain emptied of everything he has ever known apart from what she said just now.

_I didn’t want anything, only you._

If she meant for him to regret everything he has ever done from that night until this very moment, she succeeded. He longed for some type of way to rewind, to undo it all and tell his too-logical, too-petrified self not to talk himself out of everything he has ever wanted since that drive up to Barrow and instead sod it all—his better sense, the business, _everything, everything_ —and just be with her. With Robin.

 _Come with me_ , he thought to himself, remembering his overwhelming desperation to whisk her away from Matthew nearly two years ago.

She was looking out the window, completely at ease while he felt as though underwater, encased in a shark tank.

He remembered what he said back then with awful clarity, remembered the feel of her soft hands in his over the table, remembered her buoyant face that looked at him with warmth and possibility and excitement. It had been that expression that convinced him he was doing the right thing. She meant too much to him. He couldn’t risk the irreparable damage of broken romantic entanglements to fuck over the best, most prized partnership he’s ever had.

Love, to him, is hard-won; pain and grief co-existing with ecstasy and bliss. It broke him, repeatedly, broke Charlotte too, he was sure. An intensity comparable to marching head-first into war. He couldn’t put Robin through that, because the misery and suffering he endured with Charlotte, he knew, isn’t solely her doing.

 _“It’s not you,”_ he recalled saying the cliche and wanting to kick himself, but he had been genuine. It hadn’t been Robin at all. Robin, who deserved someone who had more than what he could offer, deserved someone who had two whole legs, had a life and a past and a future that’s as bright and picturesque as hers. She didn’t need a middle-aged, overweight, ex-soldier whose past still keeps him up at night. She deserved a partner that could measure up, who could give her kids if she wanted, a house if she wanted, the comfort of domesticity and stability that was so alien to him.

He never pitied himself, never thought he was a poor option for all the other women he pursued. But Robin is different, just as Charlotte had been different. They had both married men who couldn’t be further from himself, and some part of him felt he had been rejected for what he couldn’t provide, and what they could.

“Robin,” he started.

“Shit!” she exclaimed, expression suddenly alarmed. Cormoran looked out too and to his chagrin, Lucy was crossing the street, looking straight at them. He supposed he should have known this was going to happen, with the luck he’s been having all week. Any other time, he would’ve told Robin off or not securing a different, neutral place to interview Mark Leonowens, but such was the power that sentence (“I didn’t want anything, only you.”) wields that she could make him do anything, ask for anything and he shall will it so, no questions asked.

“What are you two doing here?” Lucy asked in lieu of hello, bending to kiss her brother and repeating the gesture to Robin. “Is it a case?” she continued, then gasped. “Are you investigating someone cheating?” and then even more hysterically, “It’s not a dead body, is it?”

“Fuck’s sake, Luce! Pipe down!” said Cormoran agitated, looking around the cafe. It was too empty for comfort, they could be easily overheard. “No one’s died. Just here to interview somebody.”

And then to Cormoran’s utter surprise, Robin said. “Mark Leonowens, actually. He’s a teacher here, isn’t he?”

Scratch that, Cormoran thought. He wouldn’t permit her everything at all. In fact, he thought she was being reckless and downright irresponsible and he couldn’t believe he was divulging information on a person of interest to Lucy, of all people.

Lucy gasped. “Is it him you’re investigating? What’s he done? Is this about the missing funds?”

“Wha—?” Cormoran asked, sidetracked. He felt his prosthetic jerk sharply, Robin had kicked it under the table. He caught her wince before looking at him, eyes wide and wordlessly telling him to zip it.

“That’s it, isn’t it? Why you two are here? Oh gosh! You wouldn’t believe my fright when I picked up Jack that day, the grounds crawling with police, carting off teachers in cuffs. I was so scared! I thought there’d been a shooting!” Lucy rattled on with little prompting. “I heard from Marguerite—you remember Marguerite, Stick—that they’d done an investigation and found out that over a million pounds have gone missing from school funds! That’s what you’re here for, right? That must be it.”

“We’re not at liberty to say,” Robin replied.

“But I don’t think Mark Leonowens had anything to do with it! He’s very popular. Very young and handsome.” said Lucy inconsequentially. “He might be younger than Robin! And, well, I don’t know if you know, but he’s supposedly dating Prudence Donleavy.”

“Yeah, I heard.” said Cormoran with understatement.

“So he can’t have done it, can he? If he’s rich.” Cormoran thought it odd that his sister would assume Mark Leonowens was rich based on the wealth of his supposed partner. She has certainly never experienced it to be true, being raised by Leda.

“Just covering our bases, is all.” said Robin cheerfully.

“Ah. I see my boys. Come and say hi, will you? Jack’s asking after you.” said Lucy.

The three of them exited the coffee shop and walked across towards the school. Rory, Lucy’s youngest, made a beeline for Robin and hugged her around the waist. “Auntie Harry!”

“That’s Robin, dummy.” said the eldest boy, pulling his brother by the shirt collar.

“Greggy! Don’t call your brother names!” Lucy reprimanded her son. She looked at her youngest. “Rory! Where are your glasses?”

“We better get going, Luce.” said Cormoran, longing to extricate himself and Robin.

“Uncle Corm!” yelled another boy, running up to them. He stopped right in front of Cormoran and held out a hand. Cormoran shook it, and with paternal fondness most unnatural to him, he pulled Jack for a brief hug. The ordeal at the hospital, and his continued interest in becoming a soldier, warmed Cormoran to Jack unlike the rest of his nephews. “Hey Jack! How’s it going?”

“Are you two on a mission?” Jack asked shrewdly. “Can I help?”

“Actually, if you can lead us to the teacher’s offices…” Robin said.

“I can take you!” said Jack enthusiastically, holding Robin’s hand and yanking her away.

“Listen, Stick. Heard about Ed Graham—“ said Lucy gently.

“He’s gonna be fine.” Cormoran responded, preempting her question.

“Are you gonna be here long? Why don’t you two come by for dinner?”

“Thanks Luce, but we’ve got a few more stops after this one.” said Cormoran truthfully. “Maybe some other time.”

“This weekend, you mean. Oh Stick, you didn’t forget!”

She meant Sunday brunch as their Uncle Ted and Aunt Joan were coming from Cornwall for a visit.

“I didn’t forget.” he said, though he wanted to. Much as he missed his Aunt and Uncle, the last few days have been too much family and he wasn’t up to meeting even more of them.

“And you’re bringing Harry, right?”

“Err, yeah.” he mumbled, eyes darting towards Robin’s figure walking up the stairs and into the school building.

“What? What’s wrong? Everything alright with you and Harry?” Lucy asked. She always jumped to conclusions, Lucy, especially when it came to Cormoran’s love life.

“Yes.” said Cormoran, because it was the easiest answer that would get her off his back.

“Okay.” said Lucy, who doesn’t seem like she believed him. She reached out to hug him and he returned it. “I’ll call you.” she said.

“Okay.”

“Pick up!” she said sternly.

“I pick up!” he retorted on instinct.

“Okay. You take care Stick. And say hi to Harry for me.”

He kissed her cheek and walked briskly to catch up with Robin and Jack who were waiting for him by the doorway.

Jack gave them an enthusiastic tour of the school as he led them toward the offices. Cormoran watched as Robin showed genuine interest and attention towards his nephew who also seemed to be more at ease with her than Harry.

 _“I thought Robin was your_ girlfriend. _”_ Jack asked Cormoran bluntly, even disapprovingly, the first time he brought Harry home to meet his family. _“Don’t you fancy Robin?”_

Before Cormoran’s thoughts could slip further into dangerous territory, they arrived at their destination.

“We’re not allowed past this point.” said Jack, stopping at a seemingly arbitrary archway that led to a narrow corridor. “But those are the offices.”

“Thanks Jack.” said Cormoran, patting the boy on the back. Robin gave him a hug goodbye. They waved at him awhile as he took a shortcut by running through the school grounds.

“Risky move, telling Lucy who we were here for. Did you know there’s an embezzlement case at this school?”

“No,” Robin admitted. “but I had been hoping there’d be something she could tell us. Everything is useful, isn’t it?”

“You know she’s going to ask after this until we solve it, right?” said Cormoran, a little annoyed, a little impressed at her quick thinking.

“We better solve it quickly, then!” she said, opening a door at the end of the corridor and gesturing for him to pass. He chuckled as he stepped into the room.

 

 

 

 

 

Robin wasn’t quite sure what came over her, confronting Cormoran like that in the middle of an investigation. But he kissed Harry, and then nearly held her hand, and then brought up Dev, and then they were getting along and joking around as though nothing meant anything.

She supposed the mixed signals irritated her. She didn’t think that Cormoran would _toy around_ with her— they were friends, and named partners of a business that meant everything to both of them. But there had been an air of something in the last week Harry hadn’t been around, and Dev doing that work out of the capital. The same sort of comfortableness and familiarity that led to that date six months ago.

Did she still want him? Even after all these months, with both of them seeing other people? And Harry! Why’d he have to date her bloody cousin? Of all the women in the world, why’d it have to be her? She would never date any of his cousins, or friends, or anyone he cared about! Hadn’t Al asked, and repeatedly? Hadn’t she liked him—sort of—but told herself that it was a cruelty she could never do to Cormoran as her business partner and friend (and this other, less definable thing they were to each other)? Why don’t men live by the same rules they themselves set for women?

If Robin realised that she didn’t answer whether or not she still wanted Cormoran romantically, she didn’t address.

In the quiet walk Robin and Cormoran had through the row of closed office doors, she worked herself up to anger, wishing she brought Barclay along instead. She quickly forgot (or chose to forget) the elation she initially felt when Cormoran deferred Prudence’s case to her and offered himself up to assist.

“Can I help you?” an elderly woman smiled kindly at them as they passed by an open office.

“Hello,” Robin smiled back. “I have an appointment with Mark Leonowens?”

“Oh! Prospective parents! I’m afraid you’ve been turned around. Let me escort you.”

Robin gave Cormoran a look. She clearly thought they were together. Of course she would, that was the simplest explanation. She supposed she could correct her by saying he’s a brother or a bodyguard (she smirked to herself), but the seconds trickled and the window for establishing a different backstory has closed.

“I must say, you two are lucky!” said the woman a little breathlessly, walking them briskly back through where they came. “We usually don’t entertain new applicants this late for the autumn term, but we’ve had, ah, some openings for the primary classes.”

“Oh?”

“It’s a great school, really. One of the best in the borough, if I may say. My own kids came here. That whole business a few weeks ago is no reflection of the quality of education our institution can provide.”

“Yes, I did hear something about that.”

“Those were new hires! Not from around here at all. Between you and me,” said the woman conspiratorially, “Nobody really trusted them. We had some teachers who retired around the same time and Headmaster Wycliffe thought hiring from out of town would shake things up. A bit too much, if you know what I mean. But, they’re all out and everything is back to normal.”

“We heard they’re still investigating? Is that true?” Robin asked, hoping she came off as someone who cared just for the gossip.

“None of the primary school teachers, I assure you!” said the woman. “They’re all sweet, trustworthy educators that have been here for decades.”

“Of course.” Robin smiled.

They halted in front of one of the first doors they passed through, knocking on the door softly.

“Just a moment!” a man’s faint voice said from the other side.

“Must be on the phone. Won’t be long, I’m sure.” said the woman. “So, how long have you two been together?” she blinked expectantly at them.

 _Sod it,_ Robin thought, snaking her arm to Cormoran’s back, closing the gap between them. She kept her eyes resolutely on the woman in front of her, even as she felt his heavy hand on her hip. She supposed this was inevitable, pretending to be lovers for an investigation. If she was being honest, it was surprising that it took this long for them to assume this sort of cover. Then again, all their other investigations—those that Cormoran ran—had been well thought out and prepared for, and she, heading her first ever case, have party been flying off the seat of her pants.

“Three years thereabouts.” It was Cormoran who said it. She could feel him looking at her, she resisted the urge to look up at him.

The woman looked confused. “Bit early to interview for schools, isn’t it?” she said without thinking, and then, as if to realise she had overstepped in some way, “Sorry. Didn’t mean to pry. Shall we try again?”

The woman knocked again, and the moment she turned away from Robin and Cormoran, Robin extricated herself from his side and he, in turn, pulled her hand down, apologising as his fist gently swiped her behind.

“Come in!” said the voice. The woman turned back to them both. “Off you go!” she said cheerfully and winked as they gave her their thanks.

 

 

 

 

 

Robin was right. The moment they stepped inside the office and Mark Leonowens got a good look at him, Cormoran could see dawning comprehension on his face.

“You’re Cormoran Strike!” he said, gobsmacked though cheerful. “I didn’t know you live ‘round here.”

Mark Leonowens didn’t look like your usual school worker, Cormoran mused. He was fit, with a chiseled jaw and a short beard he often saw on arty types. Bespectacled, his glasses didn’t seem to suit him, as though he was in costume. Like he was going as Clark Kent at a fancy dress party.

He extended his hand and Cormoran shook it. Robin did, too. “Please, sit.” he offered as he pulled his leather bag off his desk. “I don’t know if you know but I’m—was, I should say—Prue’s…” he seemed to trail off, remembering something. “I know your sister Prue.”

Mark looked at his papers, his eyebrows knotting. “Says here a Mr. and Mrs. Hall. I suppose it’s a cover name to keep the reporters from tracking you down?” he smiled in a sympathetic sort of way to convey that he understood what the couple in front of him was feeling. “Prue hadn’t told me she’s got another niece or nephew, is it? Of course, she kept a lot of things from me…”

Cormoran remembered the little spreadsheet Prudence gave Robin detailing her past lovers. He recalled that they broke up very recently. Just a few days before she came into the office asking for help. He also remembered his sister’s assumption that he didn’t do it.

“So, you want to apply your child to our school? How old is he? Or her?”

“We’re not here—“ Cormoran started, but Robin reached out and put her hand over his hand, squeezing. He looked at her suddenly, her attention resolutely towards Mark. Thinking it would be suspicious if he didn’t reciprocate the gesture, he moved his hand palms up, interlacing his fingers with hers.

“Just turning five. We were hoping to get him an early start. We read online it’s one of the better schools in the district.” said Robin easily.

“Yes, we’re quite proud of it.” Mark replied.

“You’ve worked here long?”

“Not too long. Three or four years now. Worked here straight out of uni, never left.”

“Bit young to already be head of admissions.” said Robin, affecting a manner of flattery that’s not entirely herself. Cormoran looked between Robin and Mark, trying to see where Robin was going with this.

Mark smiled sheepishly. “Well, perks of being alumni. They like that around here. Went here myself for primary school.”

“Did you?”

“Yes, so I can personally vouch for the quality of education your little boy will get. What did you say his name was?”

“Charlie. Little Charlie—“ Robin cleared her throat. “…Strike.” She extricated her fingers off his to rummage inside her bag to pull out a phone Cormoran didn’t recognise. His hand felt empty at the loss.

“Would you like to see a photo?” Robin asked, tapping swiftly on her mobile’s screen.

“Please—“ said Mark, but was immediately distracted by the buzzing from inside his bag. “Oh dear! Sorry about this!” said the man, apologetic as he dug around for his own phone.

Cormoran peered at the photo on Robin’s mobile screen. It was the photo of a young boy he did not recognise, but he assumed was related to Robin.

“Unknown caller.” Mark read off his phone screen before putting it down on the desk. “Sorry for the interruption. Where were we? Ah! Yes, Little Charlie!”

Robin handed Mark her phone and he looked at it with a pleasant smile on his face. “Handsome lad! Looks just like his mother.”

Cormoran watched Robin beam. She was so good at this, he thought. While he supposed Robin barely had a plan going into this meeting (she would’ve briefed him otherwise), she was exceptionally quick on her feet and excellent at going undercover. He smiled at her, amused but mostly proud.

Inspired by her, he quipped. “Thank Christ for that!” and held out his hand to her. She took it and smiled at him, winking.

The interview went on for twenty more minutes with Robin painting a vivid and largely fictional image of everyday domesticity centred on outdoorsy little Charlie who likes bees and solving little mysteries. Cormoran sat pleasantly silent through most of the exchange, trying not to reveal his suspicion that there was nothing much to be gleaned from this interview. But, he promised he would trust Robin, and her hand in his felt like an anchor that was rooting him on the spot, permitting her to see her plan through.

They fell into step with each other as they walked through the grounds towards the school’s exit, walking in silence, too smart to debrief where people could overhear them. Robin hooked her arm around his as they passed by the woman who led them to Mark Leonowens, holding onto him for the length of a brief goodbye before letting go and walking ahead.

As he watched her back to him, he recalled that night after she stormed out of the Tottenham. He followed her placidly that night, trying to convince himself that he had done the right thing when all he wanted was to get closer, to explain himself further, to take it all back.

 _But what about now?_ he asked himself. _Am I in love with her?_  Before he could reach a firm conclusion, he heard Robin gasp.

“What’s wrong?” said Cormoran, walking the few steps up to her. Robin twisted her body and held up her phone screen to him. it was a BBC news article, and in bold dark letters Cormoran read: 

**Charlotte Campbell-Ross, Viscountess Croy, Reported Missing**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE PLOT THICKENSSS (lol it's always thickening i can barely keep up lol)
> 
> I'm honestly surprised JKR hasn't used the pretend relationship trope yet lol. It's the best.
> 
> Thanks so much to those who are sticking with this story, who continue to read it despite the sporadic updates. It's incredible how great comments make you want to just crank these things out but one single negative one makes you want to abandon it forever lol. BUT I'm in too deep now so I'm gonna see this thing through. 
> 
> Love love love everyone who has given kudos (100 WHAT) and commented and bookmarked. I am chuffed! It's my first fic!


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